


Uneven Odds

by schuylers



Series: Uneven Odds Poe AU [1]
Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Poe Party, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey, after the epilogue, epilogue compliant, uneven odds poe au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8520424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schuylers/pseuds/schuylers
Summary: People are getting suspicious. Supposedly dead authors running rampant around their hometowns? This can't be good.Edgar knows this, and when his fellow authors refuse to hide away from the world, H.G suggests a method he thinks could work. But time travel is dangerous, terrible things could happen.And, of course, they do.





	1. The Haunted Palace

“Lenore! Lenore!”

His excited cry echoed through the house, reverberating around the dusty books and framed paintings. Sound always seemed to carry a lot more in Edgar’s house, perhaps it was because his abode was infested with happy haunts, ghosts always seemed to make places seem much more echo-y. Lenore liked this though, she thought it gave the whole place a spooky aura, you know, because Edgar  _ definitely  _ didn't already have a creepy house. 

A goggled face appeared in the doorway of Edgar’s lounge, HG smiled brightly. 

“Lenore! Thank goodness I found you!”

“Is everything okay?” 

Despite the whole ‘There’s a Murderous Rampage at our Dinner Party’ affair having ended some months ago, Lenore still heard the worry lacing her voice as a million scenarios raced through her head.  
_ Where's Edgar? Are the Brontës here? Is everyone safe? Are you sure we can't die twice? _

“Oh, everything is quite wonderful,” HG frowned slightly - and Lenore was reminded, almost painfully of Guy. 

_ They both have… or had, the same expression when they're concerned.  _

She shook the thought away. 

“So why did you need me?”

“I believe Annabel wished to see you.”

“The girl can walk through walls now, it’s supes cray not to make use of it.” Lenore sighed as she stood up. “Have you seen Edgar anywhere?”

“He's in the cellar,” there was a slight smile exchanged between the both of them - a slight smile over the large smiles they both wore permanently whenever they were around each other. “He should be up soon for dinner.”

Recently, Annabel had been insisting the four of them eat dinner together in the evenings, along with any guests - be they man or ghost - who might chose to join them that night. Edgar would be sweet-talked into leaving his study by Annabel, and no matter where (or when) HG had decided to go, he always made sure he was back in time for their evening meal.

Lenore would never admit it, but she enjoyed the dinners immensely; even if it was Edgar’s turn to cook. It gave the day some sort of structure and, where things had greatly improved since the aftermath of the dinner party, her days were still confusing, they were still exhausting and full of memories of people who couldn't come back, of people she knew wanted her friends hurt. 

She had HG now, though. And Annabel, even Edgar had taken a step back from his intense loneliness and became a semi-functioning member of society. 

It was almost like they were a family. 

And Lenore adored it. 

 

* * *

 

“What's up Anna Bannana?”

Annabel was - as she could usually be found - sat in the hallway, reading. 

It was strange, Lenore thought, that Annabel should choose to spend most of her afterlife in the corridor she ran down just minutes before her demise. But she wasn't one to judge. Lenore had chosen to spend her afterlife in some emo-tastic poetry guy’s house. 

She supposed it could've been worse. 

“Oh, hello Lenore,” Annabel smiled a signature almost-too-sweet smile and placed her book on her lap. It was one of Edgar’s manuscripts. 

_ ‘Unsurprisingly,’  _ Lenore thought to herself. 

“Hey, uh, HG said you needed me?”

“I do!” She stood up, still smiling. “Mary Ann and Oscar wrote to me yesterday, I forgot to tell you.”

“Oh yeah? How are they? How’s Dostoyevsky?”

“They're quite well, but according to Oscar, Fyodor has been gaining quite a bit of interest in the local newspapers.”

“Fyodor’s dead.”

“Yes… I think that's what the problem is.”

“I don't follow…”

“Well, Fyodor is a famous author.”

“ _ Was,  _ a famous author.”

“Yes, well. I think… oh, I think people have seen him out with Oscar.”

Lenore pulled a face, realising this wasn't an issue of Oscar being seen out with a guy, but more of  _ who that guy was.  _

“That's not too good for us,”

“What do we do?”

“HG will know, we can call a meeting in ten minutes.” She said, partly to herself. If there was anyone Lenore could trust with anything that even remotely involved common sense or brainpower, it was HG. And it totally wasn't because he looked really  _ hot  _ when he was figuring something out. 

Okay, maybe it was, partly. But he was good with this sort of stuff! Better than Edgar, all he did was assume the worst. Which was good sometimes. Sometimes being during mass murders, but they had been through only one of those ordeals. 

“You should probably fetch him, I could find Edgar.”

“He's in the wine cellar.”

“Oh,” Annabel seemed thrown off, almost as if she’d never known Edgar to disappear down the cellar before, even though she'd lived with him for three months now. “What's he doing down there?”

“Eh, pondering, writing in the candlelight, shrieking ‘Amontillado! Amontillado!’ occasionally.”

“I'll go check he's okay,”

“Whatever you say, Anna Banana.”

 

* * *

 

When Lenore was eleven years old, she asked her parents for a horse and her parents, being her parents, immediately obliged and took her to the nearest farmers’ market. It was a clouded-over Tuesday morning, and Lenore had been given special permission from her father to skip lessons with her governess. 

She travelled to the town with her father, which was a treat in itself, she sat in the front of the carriage and spread her skirts, she felt like a princess. 

Once her father had won a particularly nasty bidding war over a handsome, gray stallion, Lenore was acquainted with Annabel Lee, the girl whose father was also bidding on the horse. 

“He's a very lovely horse.” She smiled serenely, twitching her skirts in a slight curtsy of greeting. Lenore returned the favour with a much more vivacious, but still ladylike, always ladylike, curtsy. 

“Thanks,” she said “I don't know about a name yet. What do you think?”

Annabel seemed taken aback at this, she blinked, once, then twice, before answering carefully. 

“I think he looks like a Sean.”

Lenore wrinkled her otherwise perfectly smooth forehead in confusion. 

“Shaun?”

“Sean,”

“That's what I said. What kind of name is that?”

“I don't know,” Annabel shrugged before smiling - the first time Lenore saw her signature slice of sunshine - it was infectious, because Lenore found herself smiling back. “He just looks like a Sean.”

“Sean it is then,” Lenore offered her hand to the other girl in a spontaneous moment of unladylike glee. “I'm Lenore.”

“I'm Annabel!” She didn't think twice before taking Lenore’s hand and pulling her into a hug. 

“Hey, you're pretty cool. We should totes hang out sometime.” Lenore suggested, only slightly thrown off by her new friend’s forwardness. 

“That sounds wonderful!” 

And the rest, they say, is history. 

 

* * *

 

“I hereby call this meeting of grave importance to order.” Edgar announced from his seat next to Annabel. 

To Lenore’s surprise, he had stopped sitting at the head of the table ever since HG and Annabel arrived. He now sat right in the middle of the table. HG and Lenore would sit opposite them, and any assorted guests would join either side. Usually next to Edgar, so they could avoid as many inevitable awkward eye contact situations as possible. 

Once Ernest tried to sit at the head of the table, from where he was heckled by Edgar until he reluctantly moved and sat next to HG.

“You've told him about it?” Lenore asked, folding her arms and looking at Annabel, who nodded. Annabel was all for fun, family dinners but where it came to all-serious-no-smiles meetings, she was less than pleased.  

HG looked up from his paper, where he was rapidly scribbling letters to their friends; Oscar, Mary Ann and Fyodor, Louisa May, Agatha, and Mary Shelley. 

“Don't forget Emily,” Annabel reminded him, leaning over the table and pushing another sheet of paper across to him. 

“How are we getting the message to Ernest?” Lenore asked, examining her nails. 

“Does he  _ have  _ to come?” Edgar complained, despite their reconciliation a few days after the dinner party, he still held a rather vicious grudge against his fellow author. 

“It would make sense,” HG put in “He might know what to do.”

“Ha! Yes, because the drunken fool will definitely give us some detailed advice!” 

“Edgar,” Annabel put her own pale hand atop of Edgar’s own large one. “Perhaps we should invite Mr Hemingway anyway. He might have some good ideas.”

Edgar immediately softened under her smile and reluctantly nodded. 

“Fine. I guess we can invite him. He lives near where Agatha and Louisa are right now, they could find him and alert him.”

HG added a scribbled note on the end of his letter to Louisa and passed it to Lenore who sealed the envelope and vanished it away. 

“What exactly are we going to be  _ doing  _ at this meeting?” She asked, accepting more envelopes from her boyfriend and sealing them with Edgar’s heavy wax-sealer. “Because so far, Edgar, all you've done is send invites out to people. The last time you did that, if I remember correctly, people were  _ actually  _ murdered.”

“I'm aware of that, Lenore.” Edgar frowned, and looked at his friends. “I'm assuming HG has a plan?”

“Several, in fact.” The Professor’s reply evoked a smile from Lenore. “I do believe we’ll have to wait to see who can RSVP our invitation.”

“They should be here in three days,” Edgar cut in, nodding at the final invitation, which was to be vanished to the house that Oscar, Mary Ann and Fyodor shared. “We can discuss this then. In the meantime, I believe we have a date.”

“I believe we do,” Annabel rose from her seat, smiling beautifully and nodding her goodbyes to HG and Lenore. “We’ll be back before dinner, I'll make sure of it.”

“It's no prob, Annabel. You two stay out as long as you like.”

Annabel blushed, only slightly, and took Edgar’s hand. 

“Are we ready?”

She nodded, smiling a smile that was reserved only for Edgar. Only ever for Edgar, actually. Lenore had never seen Annabel smile like that at anyone else, not even Eddie. 

But Eddie didn't love, Eddie never loved. Lenore wondered if Eddie had ever loved anyone. No, his love was for revenge and for vengeance - his love was for cold-blooded murder. His heart was stone cold, and Lenore felt the familiar rage boiling up inside her stomach. She quelled it, however, by thinking of Edgar and Annabel. 

They so obviously loved one another, Edgar giving Annabel poetry lessons, Annabel coaxing Edgar out of his study and into the lounge, their daily walks in the grounds. Lenore had seen from the window how Edgar always made sure to avoid the bridge, still a sensitive location for Annabel. She saw the looks they shared and their delicately crafted letters to each other. Lenore had been asked on more than one occasion to slip a note under Edgar’s door - and HG had reported that he too had been commissioned to do similar for Edgar, however longer his letters were to Annabel. Their love was so much more than love. It was magical to watch. 

The pair left, arm in arm. Lenore wondered where they were off to, and how Annabel had managed to persuade Edgar to leave the house. She was so engrossed in her own thoughts, she had failed to notice HG watching her intently.

“Lenore,” he said, with a smile creeping across his face, Lenore knew it could mean only one thing. 

“What're you planning?” She asked, leaning in closer to him. It was a natural instinct now, to stay as close as she could to the ones she loved. 

“I was just wondering if, providing our guests next week will say what is predicted of them…”

“HG-” Lenore attempted to interrupt him before he could going on, knowing what was to come of it. But HG had grown somewhat resistant to her protests over the last few months, and continued. 

“That you would perhaps wish to join me…”

“I don't think it's a very good-”

“In venturing out, further than we have before.”

They both paused for a moment, as Lenore gazed into the dark pits of his eyes. She could almost swear she saw constellations in them, full of wonder and prosperity. 

“How far are you talking?”

“A year? Perhaps? Possibly less?”

“But if we mess up we could-”

“Potentially create a tear in the space-time continuum so deep that we, along with everything we know, suddenly cease to exist?”

“Yeah… that.”

They glanced at each other again. Death was one thing, but preventing their own existence was a whole new level. 

“We’ll be careful, though.”

“Of course.”

“And I'll have you.”

She smiled, and he smiled back at her - the constellations in his eyes twinkling at her, pinpricks of light in the darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are so greatly appreciated and I get a massive ego-boost with every kind word you say (which is wonderful unless my ego swells into an unfathomable size and I become the most unbearable person in the Shipwrecked fandom).  
> You can find me on tumblr at ourleaderjemilla


	2. The Imp of the Perverse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support on the first chapter! Your comments on here, Facebook and tumblr have really boosted my morale as I've been writing Chapters Three and Four!  
> Here's Chapter Two, enjoy!

If Lenore was to say the atmosphere three days later was just the same as it had been the countless times many of their current guests had visited separately or in smaller groups, she would be lying. 

It was almost as if Edgar wanted to re-enact the night of most of his guests’ demise. He gathered everyone in the dining room, still keeping the chair at the head of the table empty, purposely directing Louisa May around it, and taking the seat next to her.

“Edgar, it’s wonderful that you've invited us here,” Oscar said, taking his seat next to Fyodor. “But I  _ honestly _ don't seem to see the problem here.”

“We can't have members of the public seeing dead authors walking around their hometowns.” Lenore interrupted Edgar before he could even open his mouth, preventing an undoubtedly long winded and confusing explanation. This earned her a respectful nod from Ernest, who sat at the far end of the room, closest to the hall. 

“Well we’ll just tell them that they're ghosts.” Mary Shelley said quite plainly, as if her four hosts were stupid for ever thinking such a thing. 

“Yes, because that will go down _ so  _ well with the masses.” Agatha remarked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Lenore is right, they'll never believe us.” 

“So?” Mary Ann asked, her voice still cracking slightly - Annabel had taken her aside on her second visit to Edgar’s home, and informed her that nobody was going to devalue her writing because she was a woman. Since then, she had moved in with Oscar and Fyodor, and started writing her own autobiography: ‘My Life as George Eliot’. Nobody had the heart to explain to her that it wouldn't be able to be published now she was dead.

“What do you suppose we do?”

“Well, the most logical idea would be to simply stay out of the public eye.” H.G told the others, ignoring the general grumbles of the ghosts that followed. “And hoping that we can start going back out after a few generations have passed and people begin to forget our faces.”

“A few generations?”

“You mean to say our works will fade away?”

“Oh darling, no one will forget  _ my  _ appearance. Trust me.”

The latter was from Oscar, as was expected. 

“There is absolutely no way I'm just going to give up the prime years of my afterlife because three crazies murdered me!” Fyodor’s American accent was perfectly polished with dictation and speed as though someone who had been speaking English his entire life. 

“I've been teaching him,” Oscar smirked at Lenore, who turned to look at the Russian ghost after he executed his protest immaculately. 

“What do you suppose we do then?” Edgar asked. “Because you know how much trouble you'll be in if people start to recognise you properly!” 

“I don't see what the big deal is.” Ernest complained. 

“Oh Ernest, I would be the most worried if I were you.” Annabel said in one of her rare outbursts of frustration. “Do you all not understand? If the police hear about our possible being alive, they may release the Brontë sisters!”

“That's… that's not good…” muttered Ernest, pulling a flask from his jacket and taking a long swig. 

“There is, however, another alternative, other than the going-into-hiding option.” H.G interrupted the sudden outburst of worried conversation that had brewed up between both ghosts and living people. 

They all looked up at him as he rose from the table, Lenore’s face twisted from concern into a mixture of terror and excitement as he spoke. 

“Lenore, Edgar, Annabel. May I talk to you outside for a moment please?”

 

* * *

“You want us to go with you..?” Edgar stared at H.G as if he’d just asked him to risk his life for him, which he had done.

“According to my hypothesis, if we are to prevent your dinner party from ever happening, and therefore, prevent our subsequent deaths. It would be most optimal to bring along three other companions, one of whom being alive as my research suggests-”

“Basically, we don't wanna get into major trouble so need more people.” Lenore summarised H.G’s lengthy conclusion in a single sentence, much to Edgar’s gratitude. 

“It sounds awfully dangerous,” Annabel looked up to her friends for a much-expected assurance that they would all be safe, with no such avail.

“Oh it is, for Edgar.” Lenore said “But that's cool, we can contact another psychic again.”

“I’d prefer it if I could stay alive, thank you.” Edgar frowned, squeezing Annabel’s hand in assurance. “I'll be fine, Annabel.”

She looked up at him, the same panic that Edgar recognised from the night, the minutes, the seconds before her death. He’d grown accustomed to the many faces of Annabel Lee, and this was the one he dreaded the most. The look she wore when she knew she was untouchable, but her friends were not. It appeared whenever Oscar or Ernest visited and shared rumours of Brontë relatives. Whenever Eddie was mentioned accidentally and she slipped into a downward spiral of thoughts. The devastation on her face was enough to make Edgar want to protect her from anything and everything she could ever come across that could hurt her. 

“So are you in, or are you in?” Lenore asked, a grin playing across her face. “H.G promised adventure.”

“Adventure does sound interesting right now…” Edgar trailed, glancing back at Annabel. 

She knew full well that he wanted to join Lenore and HG, what she also knew was Edgar wouldn't leave without her. 

“Oh, of course I’ll come!” She fixed a smile onto her face, which the other three saw straight through. 

Because Annabel Lee was terrified. 

 

* * *

“Are you sure this will work, Poe?”

Ernest stood at the front of the cluster of authors, both dead and alive, who stared at the smoking contraption hidden behind a dust sheet. 

“No, I am not, Ernest.” Edgar shot back almost immediately. “But I'm trusting H.G right now.”

“Well, last time you trusted him, he got himself killed.”

“Hey, you should totally give that a try, Ernest. Why don't you head to the local prison and set Charlotte and Anne free? They'll undoubtedly be after you then and I’d  _ love  _ to see you try to protect yourself then.” There was a certain bite to Lenore’s voice that rarely emerged. 

“We really should be going,” H.G cut in before Ernest and Lenore could start the fight of the century.

“Edgar, I'm frightened. What if something goes wrong?”

Edgar tried to ignore the sharp pain in his chest at the thought of losing Annabel, or rather, Annabel losing him. Now that Krishanti’s younger sister had seemingly disappeared off of the face of the Earth after bringing Agatha back, if he died, there would be no chance of his return. And that hurt him more than anything else, the thought of everyone’s afterlife continuing without him. 

“It'll be fine, I promise.” He covered his doubt and smiled reassuringly at Annabel, knowing full well she was able to see through his paper-thin lies. 

“H.G, can you explain those rules again please?” She asked, looking towards her friend who was partially hidden behind the dust sheet. 

“Ah yes, my three laws of space and time expeditions-”

“And could we have them quickly?” Ernest cut in. “I'm serious, you don't have to go all flowery on us,  _ Professor.” _

“Uh, yes.” H.G reappeared from behind the sheet, his goggles balanced atop his head and his hands frantic and fidgeting. “As I was saying, I have gathered three important laws we must understand before we begin our adventure. We must understand that we, ourselves will be able to travel backwards and forwards, and view ourselves in these time periods, that's number one. 

Number two is that if we interfere in a way that could cause a person to pass away, said person will have died in the current day dimension also.”

“That’d certainly be hard-hitting, if we weren't already dead.” Mary Shelley rolled her eyes. 

“And number three, is if a ghost’s former alive self is to die, there will be  _ no  _ way to bring them back. Ever. We would have created two dimensions - and interdimensional seancing is not possible.”

“Still not a word.” Lenore smiled. 

“Sounds dangerous,” Mary Ann said, frowning ever so slightly.

“It is.” Lenore said. “But we’ll be completely fine.”

“Of course we will be.” Edgar nodded, “Are we ready?”

“We are,” H.G’s delighted face betrayed the somber mood in the room as he adjusted a dial on his contraption. 

Edgar took a breath, looking around the room. 

“If anything happens, I'm sure you will know.”

Annabel took Edgar’s hand, and Lenore took his other. H.G nodded at them and took both girls’ hands, they were a circle, united as one. 

A chorus of good luck wishes followed the four friends as they, one by one, disappeared behind the sheet, and into a new time. 

 

* * *

 

Lenore had known Annabel for six years when she moved away. Annabel had only just turned sixteen - and Lenore was soon to celebrate her eighteenth birthday, there was going to be a private party, there was going to be music and dancing and fun.

And then Annabel left. 

_ “Annabel Lee is such a sophisticated young woman,”  _ she heard her mother say to her governess one afternoon.  _ “Moving to the coast to start up her life with a young, wealthy suitor.” _

Lenore remembered feeling sick to her stomach. Moving to the beach was going to be  _ their  _ thing. As soon as they both got married, they were going to move to a grand mansion on the seafront with their children who would attend school lessons together. And now Annabel had left, gone without her. With this new guy, whoever he was. 

It didn't work out.

Within three years, Annabel was back at her parents’ country home - she didn't like Lenore asking questions about what happened. So she didn't. 

Two months later, Lenore met Guy, and life passed by in a whirlwind. Flowers and presents and whispered words. Which led to a proposal in front of the lake at her own parents’ holiday home beneath the setting sun

All the while, Annabel waited. And waited and waited, it was almost as if she'd stopped believing in love and compassion, she'd stopped looking for a husband as all of the girls her age were doing. So instead, she wrote. 

She wrote to everyone she could, especially writers. There was one, in particular, who she had seen in a newspaper, Edgar Allan Poe. According to Annabel, he was  _ ‘charming’ _ and  _ ‘ever so poetic’. _

Lenore thought he sounded  _ ‘boring’  _ and  _ ‘ever so pathetic’.  _ But she let Annabel write her letters to him anyway, after all, who was she to stop someone from doing what they loved? 

 

* * *

Edgar’s head was being compacted into the smallest space possible, he saw so many images flash before his eyes, it was impossible to make sense of any of them. He felt the cold chill of his three friends being pummelled into him as they flashed through time.

_ ‘Time travel really isn't designed for alive people.’  _ He cursed H.G silently.  _ ‘Why couldn't the man design a more comfortable machine?’ _

He had no time to speak, because before he could think of anything else, an invisible force pushed him down until he felt solid ground under his feet, a welcome relief. So welcome, in fact, that he fell flat on his face. 

“Edgar!” Annabel was standing up, as were Lenore and H.G. She rushed over to him and helped him up. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” he caught her eye for a split second, unfathomably dark rings of brown reassuring eyes as blue as the sea she once lived beside. “H.G. Where and when are we?”

Edgar needn't have asked, as his friend was already scanning the time machine, a small, smoking box, covered in dials and screens. He and Lenore were both watching a specific screen, muttering to each other, both engrossed in time and statistics. 

He also needn't have asked as right now, Lenore was talking, and H.G was staring straight up at her as if she was the ghostly embodiment of love itself. He leant precariously on his machine, only slightly looking up at her, with the widest, most wonderful smile spreading across his face. 

“That's precisely it, Lenore! You've got it!” He smiled wider, if that was even possible, as Lenore’s face slowly lit up. They'd just travelled through space and time, yet they were caught up in themselves. 

“H.G,” Edgar repeated again, glancing at Annabel, who was trying her best to keep from ‘ _ awww’ _ -ing out loud. “Where and when are we?”

“Oh!” H.G snapped out of his trance, nearly falling into the time machine and zapping himself into another dimension in the process. “We appear to be just days away from the date Lenore gave me, when you first discussed the dinner party.”

Edgar frowned suddenly, his eyebrows shooting upwards until they were almost hidden behind his slightly-time-ruffled hair. He felt Annabel squeeze his hand as she looked up at him, concerned. 

“Edgar? You've gone awfully pale.”

“What's happened now?”

“Oh dear, have I done something wrong, perhaps?”

“The day we first discussed the party?” Edgar looked at Lenore, who was giving him her classic  _ ‘Yes, that's what he said. Are you stupid?’  _ look. 

“Yes, that's what he said. Are you stupid?”

Just as predicted. 

“That's the day-” Edgar began, but was abruptly interrupted by footsteps from the long hallway outside of Edgar’s lounge. 

“Quick! Behind here!” H.G grabbed Edgar’s arm and whisked him behind a bookshelf, pulling Lenore and Annabel with him along the way. 

“What is it?” Lenore hissed, concealing herself between an untidy stack of manuscripts. 

“Look,”

From the doorway, the four could see a familiar shape; a long black coat billowing behind it. Mutters following him, mutters of  _ ‘Annabel Lee’  _ and well-rehearsed poems. 

Edgar felt the breath knocked out of him, his fears confirmed as his past self unlocked the front door and left the house. 

“The day we first discussed the dinner party.” Edgar turned to Lenore once he was sure Past-Him was completely out of the house. “Annabel’s birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for your love, support and comments. I can't express how happy I am that you all like it! I'm working on a posting schedule but this coming week is going to be extremely busy and I don't think I'll have much time to edit on my computer - but I'll try my best!  
> I love you guys!


	3. A Predicament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload, guys!

H.G Wells was always good at planning. He was an author  _ and  _ an inventor, planning was in his nature. Whether it be the plot to his next science fiction novel, or what he would wear for a writers’ gala with the benefactor of the British Authors’ Society. Everything had to be planned down to the last detail, providing he had enough time. 

During his expedition through time and space with his three closest friends, however, he did not have enough time for prior planning and instead drew out a rough plan, and went over it as many times as he could with his fellow adventurers. 

He didn't expect the time machine to work on Edgar, he was still alive, his particles still fully intact and very much connected. But they'd done it, they'd managed to get him into the past and it was all due to Lenore. Her late-night suggestion of creating an impermeable ring of ghostliness around Edgar had actually worked - no matter how crazy it sounded. 

But now they'd actually  _ done  _ it, gotten into the past, H.G Wells had absolutely no idea what to do. 

But his friends were looking at him so expectantly, Edgar’s face riddled with guilt and fear, Annabel wore her usual concerned-confused look as per usual when Edgar was being cryptic and nervous and Lenore… Lenore. 

She was Lenore, wasn't she? There were no other words to describe her. Well, there were. Of course there were, H.G was an author and he had a vocabulary practically bursting with the words to suit her, but nothing could do her justice. She was interchangeable, each of her new emotions bringing out another part for H.G to love. 

For example, right now, Lenore was a sunset. The kind that you want to capture in your memory or on your caméra forever but it’s fading all too quickly and you find yourself wanting to preserve it for as long as you can. 

She was radiant and beautiful and bold and bright and absolutely perfect in every way H.G could ever imagine. And as the sunset faded, along came a roaring fire, warm and crackling and dangerous and magical and ever-so-delicate, with flames licking up anything in it’s path. 

He wondered if Guy had ever felt any of that for her. 

H.G didn't know what symbolism Annabel’s birthday had, but it seemed to have the most adverse effect on Lenore and Edgar - they both fell silent, and a fresh wave of hopelessness washed over H.G, it was something he hadn't felt for a while. Not since that night in the attic, his final moments, fading in Lenore’s arms. 

He maybe even felt more helpless here than he did up there. 

_ ‘A few months from where I am now,’ _ he thought to himself.  _ ‘I will die, or, at least,  I will die providing we fail. If we succeed I'll still be here.’ _

He was still here, in this time. H.G Wells - from the past -  was still alive. He was in England currently, but he was alive. He tried to shake the idea of two H.Gs running around the world, inventing and writing, out of his head - as he realised Annabel was talking to Edgar and Lenore for the past two minutes and he hadn't heard a single word of their conversation. 

“Edgar, calm down, please!” Annabel begged, staring up at him, wide eyes wider than ever. “What's wrong?”

The man in question was pacing around his lounge, raking a hand through his hair and using the other to run over the spines of his books - a nervous habit that Lenore had noticed a long time ago. 

“Chill, Edgar. There's nothing we can do.” she said, looking between Annabel and H.G for backup.

“He's there! He's there right now! I can stop him!”

“You can't do anything about it,”

“I can! I can-- I can go and stop him! I can--”

Annabel caught one of his shaking hands and stilled it gently. She reached out, pushed his hair away from his eyes and tried her best to muster up a brave smile. 

“He never hurt me.” She said quietly. “Not until… until… the, uh, the...” 

The four paused, knowing all too well what she couldn't say. 

“I'll be fine.” She nodded, almost as if convincing herself. “We’ll be fine.” 

Her reassurances turned to dust, Edgar’s eyes were still clouded, eyebrows knitted down as low as they could go, his free hand fidgeting anxiously. 

“You don't understand, Annabel, he's right-”

She screwed up her face in concentration, reached for his shoulders, lifted herself up onto her toes - and kissed him. 

 

* * *

 

Annabel Lee had her first kiss when she was thirteen. Under the careful instructions of the much more sophisticated sixteen year old Lenore, she sat demurely on a swinging seat under the apple tree in the park until the carpenter’s son, Jackson, came a-running. 

Jackson was fifteen, and tall. So tall, in fact, that he was the subject of many whispered conversation at the local girls’ school. Annabel’s classmates would embroider their dresses and talk about Jackson’s Sunday waistcoat, his green (or were they grey?) eyes, his perfect manners. 

“You're the most beautiful girl in town,” Lenore told Annabel after Jackson had kissed her for several short seconds and ran off blushing. “Of course he would've wanted to kiss you.”

“It just didn't sit right, you see?” Annabel said, because it didn't. It seemed too… planned? Was that the word? Too organised and fictitious. She almost felt obliged to kiss Jackson, as nice as it may have been. 

“No, I don't see,” Lenore frowned at her friend, confused. “Maybe you'll understand when you're older.”

Annabel didn't understand when she was older, but she came to an understanding. People were always going to choose who she had to love, Annabel had no say in the matter. 

* * *

 

 

They had never kissed before. Edgar had never found the right time, or he would worry it wouldn't work properly and the moment would be shattered. Annabel was a ghost, it's just not how it was supposed to work. 

Yet it did. 

Annabel was kissing him and, for a moment, everything was blissful and wonderful and time was gone. He was happy. 

And she pulled away, breathless, her eyes shone with tears and awe. She, like Edgar, doubted that kissing would work between the two of them. They had seen H.G and Lenore kiss, but they were both ghosts. It was completely different. Edgar supposed he could have asked Fyodor and Oscar, but he thought it would've been way too personal. Though Oscar would have probably answered it more than happily. 

“Are you okay?” She whispered, her face inches from him. 

“Wonderful.” His lips parted slightly into a smile, and Annabel returned one, somewhat wider. 

Edgar turned to H.G, who was watching them with Lenore, amused smiles playing across both of their faces. 

“Have we got a plan?”

The smiles faded, all four of them. 

“I, uh, I… I've been thinking. Lenore and I, we've been talking.”

“Basically,” Lenore glided toward her favourite seat and sat down, making sure to arrange her skirts around her as usual. “We’ve figured out that no matter how we stop the dinner party from happening, Dead Eddie - or, Not Dead Eddie - will still be hella vengeful.”

“So… we have to stop him from getting mad about everything?” Annabel asked. 

“We have to stop what first made him go totes cray in the first place.”

“That, being your death…” Edgar looked at Lenore in disbelief. 

“Exactly,” a smug smile appeared on her face. “I came up with that one myself as well. Pretty good, right?”

“And how exactly are we going to do that?” 

“If I may,” H.G took over Lenore after he saw her struggling to shoot a reply at Edgar’s speed. “We will travel back to Lenore’s old home and prevent her death-”

“I thought it was a mystery illness,” Annabel interjected. “It was a mystery illness, wasn't it?”

“Well we’ll just watch Past-Me really closely and make sure I don't get sick again.” Lenore rolled her eyes, growing impatient.

“H.G, a word?” Edgar pulled apart from Annabel gently, still grasping her hand until it was absolutely necessary to let go. He walked into the hallway, giving Lenore a strict  _ ‘I know you want to listen and I know you probably will listen but please don't.’ _

She raised an eyebrow, but then nodded in defeat. The two could read each other like a book. 

Once Edgar was sure he was out of earshot, he turned to face his goggled friend. 

“What do you think you're doing, H.G?!”

“I just thought… I know this will work…”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“I only wanted to-”

“Make sure there's still a chance of you being together.” Edgar’s voice was slow and calculating, full of a bitterness H.G was yet to have heard. 

“I… No. Not only that. But to also-”

“Because it can work. You know, a guy and a ghost. Or do you think Annabel and I aren't meant to be?”

“Edgar, I don't think- this isn't why I'm doing it, you're not understanding-”

“Then make me understand, Wells! What is it that I don't understand?!”

“If we prevent Eddie from becoming as vengeful as he will get, we will also prevent his suggestion of inviting me to the dinner party.”

“So?”

“So Lenore and I would never have met.”

Both man and ghost stared at each other in a prolonged moment of realisation and fear respectively. 

“I… H.G…”

“I'm sorry,” H.G busied himself with the buttons on the sleeves of his shirt. “We should probably return to Annabel… and Lenore.” He turned back to the lounge dejectedly. 

“Wait- I think,” Edgar began “I think we should do what you say. We should go back and prevent Lenore’s death.”

“Really?” H.G span on his heel, the tiniest of smiles flitting across his face. 

“The only thing you have to think about is Guy,” He frowned to himself. “Will Lenore still love you? Even with her fiancé around?”

Dark eyes looked into a pair almost identical. Unlike Lenore, Edgar failed to see the criss-crossed constellations in the dark. Those stars never rise, not for Edgar - never for Edgar. 

“One can only hope.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so crazily grateful for all of your comments and kudos.  
> You guys are wonderful


	4. To The River

Two pairs of feet walked through an overgrown, unkempt meadow. One pair much smaller and more dainty than the other. Edgar held Annabel’s hand tightly, almost as if simply letting go of her would result in losing her… again.

That seemed to be something he was good at; writing, collecting ravens, and losing Annabel Lee. First to his awkwardness, then to Eddie, and then to Eddie again, although in a completely different way.

_ Eddie Dantes _ , Edgar had always thought his name was strange - fake, almost. Which it was, of course. He always knew there was something odd about him.

He wasn't saying he was always right, but he was. Edgar was always right - except for when he was wrong. But that didn't count, he was always right.

Annabel was different though, Edgar could be wrong around Annabel and she wouldn't mind. He was allowed to just be  _ Edgar  _ with her. Or Edgar and Annabel, Annabel and Edgar. Something different, something where Edgar didn't have to come first every time, he wanted Annabel to be happy. And nothing else.

He helped her over the stepping stones over the stream, a route they had discovered on their second garden venture.

The first trip out into the garden was a disastrous one, if Edgar might've said so himself. The pair reached the bridge, and Annabel froze in terror, her hand falling limp in Edgar’s. No matter what he said to her, she wouldn't look back at him. Her face was frozen in a perfect image of destruction and devastation - and as she came around to her senses again, she pulled away from Edgar and ran back to the house, into her newly assigned bedroom. There she stayed for eight nights, locked away, not a word coming from her. No matter who, be it Lenore, Edgar or a visiting Oscar or Ernest, tried to bring her out, they failed, and resolved to wait for her in her own time.

Her own time came, and she emerged looking as beautiful and radiant as ever. Possibly even more, there seemed to be a smile fixed on her face that had slipped since she was brought back - but from then, it rarely fell. Annabel Lee was back and lovely as ever.

Since then, Edgar had made sure he found an alternative route. After Annabel had re-emerged, they went out into his untamed garden, and found some large stones leading over the river. It was their spot, and they would be damned if they weren't going to visit it whilst they were in the past.

Annabel shimmered slightly in the midday sun as she hopped over the stones, waiting patiently for Edgar to awkwardly step across each one before advancing to a new one.

H.G and Lenore had given them an hour and twenty six minutes to do whatever they wanted (providing it didn't mess up the space-time continuum) before they'd need to be back in the lounge to travel to the final days of Lenore. H.G was terrified, they could tell by the precision of his units of time and his movements and his words and his eyes. Annabel swore to Edgar that she could see the man think when he was under pressure. The way he darted around and looked from person to person as each one spoke. It was easy for anyone to see he’d done this often - he was just too accustomed to his own mannerisms to be thrown off by them.

“Do you think he’ll be able to hold up?” Annabel picked her way through the grass and around a bush, reaching the Orchard.

“H.G? I'm sure he’ll find a way to make Lenore fall in love with him again.”

“But what about Guy?”

“You knew him, right?” Edgar took off his coat and laid it on the grass for Annabel. This was a completely unnecessary act, as Annabel was a ghost, so she didn’t feel the cold or dampness of the grass, but she smiled and thanked him all the same.

“I did know him, briefly. He was very nice.”

Edgar nodded, taking a seat himself and watching her talk.

“It's strange to think,” she carried on “that someone so kind could be related so closely with someone like…” she stopped abruptly. Of all of the guests, the identity of the murderers undoubtedly affected Annabel the most. Each time someone mentioned Eddie, she would grow quiet, quieter than normal. She would almost shrink into herself, and during these moments, Edgar wanted to do nothing more than hold her close and assure her that it was over, that she was safe and perfect and  _ worth-loving.  _ Because she was, she was Annabel Lee. She was worth every ounce of Edgar’s love, she was so wonderful in every way. She was worth so much more than Eddie, than someone who was using her simply for his own goals, for murder.

“Yes…” she managed to stutter “Guy was lovely. I don't know how I didn't notice... how he and... how...” She shrank into herself, lost for words.

“It's okay, Annabel.” Edgar spoke hoarsely, his own voice worn with sadness. “It's okay… You’re more than him.”

She ducked her head, and let a curtain of hair fall over her face, picking at long blades of grass.

“What does Lenore think about it?” She was quiet, her eyes focused on the grass.

“She's excited, I think. But she's been quiet. Don't you think?”

“Not around H.G. He knows what she's thinking. And if she didn't want to, then he wouldn't make her. He loves her so much.”

“And I love you so much,” Edgar took the open opportunity to kiss Annabel on her forehead, and found himself smiling when he was able to. Annabel most often went corporeal when there was a big occasion, or she was feeling something true, something real. That was now. Barely an inch apart, their hearts even closer.

The Orchard was home to many a forehead kiss, that afternoon. For the next hour, the two talked about the future, and the past, and the future that was also the present. They talked about their friends, and what they were going to do when they were back in the present and Annabel was no longer a ghost (‘ _ I’m going to give the house a wonderful spring clean and brighten up the windows!’ ‘Well I'm going to write a whole bible of poems about Annabel Lee!’) _ . And they talked about each other - silly, stupid, midsummer talk of favourite foods, favourite animals,  _ ‘What would you do if you could fly?’ _ ,  _ ‘What would you do if you could write a poem about anything, right now?’  _ and Annabel’s favourite;

“So, who's your favourite author?” Edgar asked.

She giggled happily, resting her head against the old apple tree and smiling serenely.

“Oh, you're not even answering?”

She smiled again, closing her eyes.

“You know who my favourite author is.”

“It's that bastard Hemingway, isn't it?”

She opened her eyes and leaned in close to him.

“Hmm, I'll have a good think.”

Then, they kissed.

Properly, for the second time in their lives (or afterlife in Annabel’s case).

Edgar felt crashing waves against rocks, breathless excitement, and the roaring ocean drowning out everything else. He stood atop a cliff and held out his arms, the heavens opened with the thrashing blue sea beneath him.

Annabel felt cosy days in the study, she felt the crackle of a log fire and the smoothness of a new book. She felt warmth and wonder, the feeling of never having to think of anything of importance ever again. She felt love and comfort and happiness.

They broke away after what felt like mere seconds of wonder, both smiling unfathomably awestruck smiles. Annabel’s eyelashes were spiked with crystallised tears of happiness, Edgar’s eyes creased up in a rare, genuine smile.

“You still didn't tell me your favourite author.”

“It's you,”

“I thought it might be.”

And then,

“I love you.”

It was almost as if somebody had flicked a switch somewhere on Edgar, as his face immediately crumpled, and he fought with himself to regain composure. Annabel wondered if he had ever been told by somebody he was loved before, and her heart ached.

“I love you too, Annabel Lee.”

It was wonderful. Annabel felt so wonderful. Edgar’s face was practically glowing with happiness, his face alight with pride and love and awe.

And he was happy, Edgar Allan Poe was the happiest he had ever been in his entire life. With two friends waiting back at his home, the most beautiful, most kind, most wonderful woman at his side, the four of them ready for the adventure of a life (or death) time. He was happy. Nothing could stand in the way of him and his happiness.

He was happy.

And it was the most wonderful thing.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Lenore and H.G were working on the time machine in none other than the attic. It was less inventor’s lab-esque than the refurbished attic of the future. H.G had added a desk and wire storage during his time living at Edgar’s. He’d made sure to keep the draping fabrics and dresses so that Lenore could busy herself with dress-making and designing if she chose to leave him to his own devices.

But, being the past-version of the attic, H.G had to settle for a cleared out space up in the rafters to add the finishing touches to the machine - at that moment, Lenore was helping him fine tune the ‘space’ element of time and space travel as they would have to travel a good hundred kilometres as well as five years into the past if they wanted to get to the day of Lenore’s wedding.

“Are you okay?” Lenore asked, handing her boyfriend an extra coil of wire and frowning, seeing his eyes weren't alight with the fire they usually held when he was inventing.

“Just nervous,” he attempted a weak smile, and failed.

“It'll work. It always does.”

“Ah, yes. The time machine,” H.G fumbled with and dropped a screw onto the dusty floor, flustered. “That's what I meant.”

Lenore tried to look at him again, but he turned back to the time machine and began flicking a switch on and off, on and off, almost mechanically.

“I love you, you know.”

“I know, and I love you too.” Hollow. His words were hollow, Lenore didn't understand.

“Are you sure everything's okay? There isn't a cinch or an anomaly or anything?”

“Oh no, the machine is fine.” H.G ran a hand through his hair, still facing away from Lenore. “Don't fret. Everything will run smoothly.”

She smiled, however weak.

 

* * *

 

“How long have they been gone?” Ernest asked, uncomfortably shifting in his seat and pulling a flask from his coat.

“Uhh,” Louisa checked the tall, grandfather clock closest to her. “About forty five minutes? Maybe an hour?”

“Louisa, honey. You're reading the time wrong.” Agatha pointed at the longer hand of the clock. “They've been gone for just over two hours and fifteen minutes. Besides, we’ll know when they prevent the dinner party.”

Her fellow authors stared up at her in confusion.

“Were none of you listening to Mr Wells?” She asked. “Once they have changed the course of time, we shall return to where and how we would be if the party was never to have happened.”

“I still don't understand,” Oscar’s reply received an exasperated groan from Agatha as she snapped the book she held in one hand closed, and returned it to its home on one of Edgar’s many shelves.

“Whatever,” Ernest grumbled. “I just wanted to know how long they've been gone - not a thousand word explanation - I'm bored out of my life already, thanks very much.”

“Perhaps we should play a game?” Fyodor suggested.

“Oh yeah, because that worked out  _ so  _ well for us last time.” Ernest snapped, taking a long swig from his flask.

“There's no need to snap, Ernest.” Emily said quietly - naturally, nobody heard her, or if they did, she was ignored.

“We could always try some more upside-down meditating,” Oscar leaned back in his seat.

His suggestion was a joke, but was received as a deadly serious proposal. And sure enough, after five long minutes of explanation, seven of the world’s most prolific authors were balancing and hanging upside down, each humming softly.

“Why doesn't this feel as ridiculous as I expected?” Mary Shelley asked, squashed in between an almost-purple-faced Fyodor and a giggling Louisa.

“Because we’re authors,” Mary Ann called from across the room where she balanced precariously on her head, using Ernest as a wall to balance on. “And we’re used to doing weird things.”

“She’d know,” Fyodor muttered to Oscar, who almost collapsed in an undignified heap due to a fit of laughter.

“It definitely helps to pass the time,” Agatha used one hand to stabilise herself in her position over the side of the couch, and the other hand to keep her hat balanced atop of her curls.

It was strange, because, for the first time, the authors seemed to be laughing together, smiling, having fun. Emily and Louisa were talking together as they hung off the back of Edgar’s sofa, the widest of smiles gracing their faces. Ernest and Mary Ann were talking - actually talking to each other, Mary Ann craning her neck and pushing hair away from her eyes to look at him, Ernest smiling something that was more like a genuine smile than a smirk.

It was strange, how their friendships blossomed in death - and in fear - rather than life. And they all rather liked it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this concludes the twice weekly uploading! School and work and general life is pretty hectic and, to much disbelief, I apparently have a life outside of the internet. So, expect the next update to be at the beginning of next week, and please keep commenting, sharing, kudosing (kudosing isn't a word), and being the overall lovely and wonderful people you are!


	5. To Science

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry for the dreadfully irregular, short, and late update! This week has been extremely hectic, but everything should be back to normal by Monday!

“Are you ready?” Lenore asked H.G, pulling her hair back and adjusting a resistor on the time machine.

  
“Not in the slightest,” he replied, guiding her hand over to another resistor so she could adjust the time-lapse as he perfected the final formula and tapped it into the machine.

  
“So you don't know if this’ll work?” Edgar asked, concerned.

  
“There's an extremely high probability it will work, Edgar. We must look on the bright side.” Annabel peered over Lenore’s shoulder curiously, watching her spin dials and press buttons systematically.

  
“Exactly, Miss Lee!” H.G beamed at Annabel as Edgar and Lenore shared a look of ‘Why so we love these freakishly happy people?’

Neither of them had the answer, and neither of them truly cared. What they cared about was the two smiling ghosts talking to one another about sunshine and happiness and who knows what else.

  
“I can't believe this is actually happening.” Lenore said, pressing one of the largest buttons on the machine and grabbing Edgar and H.G’s hands, as Annabel completed the circle.

  
“Are you sure you want to go through with it?” Edgar asked.  
“Like I've told you the other thousand times you've asked me that same question, yes. I'm completely sure.” Lenore rolled her eyes, but swallowed nervously nonetheless.

  
They stepped towards the machine, and before Edgar’s front door had the chance to swing open, smoke immersed the four time-travellers, and they evaporated away.

Four grey wisps fading out into nothing.

  
********

 

* * *

 

  
Lenore’s parents wanted her to marry at their home, it was large and beautiful, but it wasn't by the sea like she and Annabel had always envisioned. She supposed the sea had been ruined for Annabel anyway. She wasn't able to come to the wedding, she’d moved away now. The town life called for Annabel, which Lenore didn't get, because surely if the town was going to call anyone it'd be her.

  
She tried to keep an open mind of it, she didn't want to fall out with her oldest friend - but she couldn't help wishing she was by her side on her wedding day.  
Guy loved Lenore’s parents, and was happy to marry at their home. Guy loved Lenore. Which was crazy to think about, because the guys who loved Lenore were so often materialistic and supes creepy. But Guy was different, somehow. He was caring and sweet and dear to Lenore’s heart.  
He was different.

  
It was almost as if Guy understood Lenore completely. He knew exactly when she needed to be left alone, and when she wanted him to be around and compliment her.

  
Come to think of it, Lenore never really heard the end of compliments from Guy, to the point where compliments were all she really ever received from him.  
She supposed that that was how Guy and H.G were different. Lenore could have a conversation with H.G and they could both become engrossed in the subject within minutes. H.G would always treat her as if she was the exact same intelligence as himself, though she knew she was far from it. And if Lenore became stuck on a concept or theory, he would explain it patiently until she understood, he watched where he leapt and made sure she was with him all along the way.

 

* * *

 

  
The quartet landed - Poe less gracefully than the others - on a grassy field surrounded by a tall, dark thicket of trees. As Annabel rushed to help Edgar regain his balance after the harrowing trip, Lenore turned to face the winding path through the wood. The cobbled lane lead up to a magnificent, sun-bathed castle-like mansion.

  
Her stomach twisted as she realised they'd actually done it - they'd traveled back to her wedding day. This was a reality where she was alive and living and really there. The realisation brought a bittersweet downpour of memories, both from her life and afterlife.

  
“Are you okay?” H.G asked quietly, standing slightly behind her, afraid to touch her.

  
“I'm just still getting used to going through time and space-”

  
“Lenore, you're crying.”

  
“What? No, I’m fine. I mean, I'm not crying.” Lenore dragged a hand over her right eye and blinked furiously. “I don't cry. At all. That's my thing.”

  
“It's okay, Lenore…”

  
“I'm fine,” she said, grabbing H.G’s hand. “We've got work to do. I'll show you where we can move the time machine. Come on Edgar, Annabel.”

  
The two looked up at her, and frowned. Lenore’s hair was slightly flyaway and her makeup smudged around the eyes, which was about as disheveled as Lenore could get. Nethertheless, her unkemptness was an indicator of just how much pressure and stress she was under.

  
“What time is it, H.G?” Edgar asked.

  
“Just past ten o’clock in the morning. We have three and a half hours before… before it's too late.”

  
“We can do that.” Annabel reassured them. “We can, can't we?”

  
“Of course we can.” H.G nodded, squeezing Lenore’s hand.

  
She stayed uncharacteristically silent.

  
“Right, so here's the plan,” Edgar pulled out a notebook from his jacket pocket and began to brief his friends. “Nobody can see Annabel or Lenore as someone could recognise them. So Annabel will be in charge of getting us out of here in case of emergency, if anything happens, come run and find us. We’ll reconvene out here and get back to the present. Lenore, you’ll show H.G to where past-you is right now, and then hide out until things get sorted out and you become one with past-you. H.G, you need to stop Lenore from doing whatever is going to kill her, and I’ll be on guest duty, and Guy duty. I'll distract him until we can confirm Lenore is okay. Sounds like a plan?”

  
“So I stay here, H.G and Lenore go to her living quarters and you stay down in the reception hall?” Annabel asked.

  
“Exactly. And once everything is fixed, we’ll head back to the future, and everyone will be alive and we’ll all be happy.”

  
“I don’t know, H.G…” Annabel frowned. “It all sounds rather polished and our polished plans never seem to work.”

  
“We will be completely fine, Annabel. Everything will go according to plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all so much. I love you all.


	6. Lenore

_For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,_

_The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes_

_The life still there, upon her hair- the death upon her eyes._

 

When Guy spoke to Lenore as she lay on her deathbed, he knew full well that this would be the end of both of them. He knew that Lenore was dying, no matter how mysterious her illness appeared to be, and he knew he couldn’t possibly dream of living without her. So the words he spoke were poured from the depths of his soul, he hadn’t planned ahead or orchestrated the ditty in any way. The words just came to him in the moment, and Lenore heard them clear as day.

Once she had come back, and was comfortable enough around him, Lenore recounted the day she died to Edgar carefully - describing in almost painful detail how the day went ahead. She said it was strange, like she was constantly alert that day. She couldn’t explain how she remembered the material of the soaked cloth that Guy pressed to her head as she died, she couldn’t explain how she could recount the exact words Guy said to her as she died.

Edgar found Guy of immense interest, there was a two week period where he would do nothing but ask Lenore questions about him - a most insensitive procedure which Edgar found rather exciting - which, of course, resulted in the pair’s longest and loudest quarrel since Lenore accidentally dropped one of Edgar’s manuscripts in her beef casserole.

It took two months for the Guy argument to blow over, and it only happened when a sheepish Edgar left his final copy of his poem _Lenore_ on the ladder to the attic where she discovered it the next day.

Lenore was so overcome with gratitude and honour that she instantly put aside any disagreement she had with her housemate and tackled him with a hug in his study.

When Lenore read the passage in the poem where Guy’s words appeared, she didn’t feel anger and hatred like Eddie had when his grandfather’s plays were stolen, she didn’t want to hurt Edgar, nor any other author. To her, it was the single most kind thing Edgar had ever done, take a real part of her life and put it into a poem.

Edgar would never steal an active author - or even an alive person’s work, not ever. Lenore told herself this almost every day, as a sort of reassurance that what might have been didn’t happen. Yes, Edgar had used Eddie’s speech in one of his recent tales, but Eddie was dead now. And Lenore had a sneaking suspicion that Edgar only wrote Eddie’s words in to spite him and the Brontës.

It was strange, Lenore always found herself thinking, how people could see the world from so many different viewpoints. She supposed that was why she loved time travelling with HG so much (other than the fact that she was with HG, of course). She got to see so many different events from so many different angles, she could watch something play out again and again, each time with a different mindset. It was almost as if she had become someone else for a moment, or even as if she was still Lenore - but _alive._

It was a strange, fanciful idea - especially after Lenore had spent so many years telling herself that she loved being a ghost. But it was quite possible that Lenore missed living.

  


* * *

 

  


Lenore led H.G up spirals and spirals of stairs, trying her hardest not to linger to long when she saw a familiar portrait or scuff-mark in the skirting boards. Each and every corner she turned brought along a fresh wave of memories - not exactly of the painful variety, but the empty, long-ago kind.

H.G was compliant in being guided around Lenore’s past home. He peered curiously at the walls and smiled when he saw a tall framed painting mounted at the top of a flight of stairs.

A girl of maybe twelve stood next to a gray horse, Lenore wore a smile and a full, green skirt. H.G stopped in his tracks and stared at it for a moment, intending to catch up with Lenore, but she stopped too.

“There's one of Annabel and I, down the hallway.” She said softly. “We might have time to go and take a look?”

“Really?” H.G’s face lit up like it did when he understood a new equation, or one of his inventions worked better than expected. Lenore giggled in spite of herself, and took his hand.

“C’mon, it’s just down here.”

She led him to an oak-panelled door and slipped through, suddenly feeling comfortable and at-home in a place she had never expected to return to. And even when she considered it as an option, she _never_ thought about bringing H.G. She always supposed it would be a sombre, quiet occasion where she could mourn herself and Guy for a few hours, and then travel back to the mansion.

But this was beyond anything she had imagined, it was her wedding day, the day of her death, and she was giggling and tiptoeing around familiar corridors - Guy barely crossed her mind, and when he did, it was only for Lenore to think about where he would be at that moment. Far far away from where her and H.G were - they were safe for now, and they were going to have some fun in their last moments as ghosts.

“This one here!” They reached a lit hall lined with paintings and Lenore raced down it, her dress flying out behind her. “Annabel and I sat for ages for this painter guy - who was totes boring and didn't speak for the entire time - and then he messed up the shading of Annabel’s hair but it's okay because we still look supes adorbs.”

H.G smiled, but his attention was drawn to the next painting along; a large dark canvas, dotted with constellations and a large, yellow moon. This didn't go unnoticed to Lenore, who watched his expression for a moment before he spoke to her.

“Isn't it quite possibly the most wonderful thing?”

“The painting?”

“Space.” He murmured.

It truly was magnificent, H.G thought, how he could look out and see the sky and it's infinite beauty.

“I'm in love with stars!” Lenore proclaimed a little too excitedly, “There's a telescope in my room up near the top! We should totally check it-” her voice faltered as she remembered their time constraint.

“Maybe another time.” H.G reassured. “But yes, I'd love to see and talk about the stars with you. You see that one?” He pointed out a series of stars in the painting. “That's the Cassiopeia.”

“Cassio-what?” Lenore wrinkled her forehead.

“Cassiopeia. A constellation. It's named after a Greek goddess - some say she had unrivalled beauty.”

“She sounds great,”

“Not really. She was put in the sky as punishment for boasting of her daughter’s beauty. So some would argue she wasn't quite that great of a person, one would suppose.”

“Oh… What happened to the daughter?”

“Andromeda? That'll be that constellation there.” Another series of stars was pointed out as Lenore peered curiously. “She was chained to a rock and left to be devoured by a monster. But Perseus - that one there - saved her.”

“Sounds boring. Same old, being saved thing.”

“You'd rather she be killed?”

“It makes for a little variety, doesn't it? I mean, I wouldn't have stuck with Edgar if he'd ended every one of his tales with a ‘Happily Ever After’. It just doesn't happen in real life.”

“Ours will be a Happily Ever After, assuming this goes to plan.” H.G stepped away from the painting and looked at his watch. “Fiddlesticks! We've wasted three quarters of an hour!”

“No way,” Lenore jumped into action, grabbing H.G’s hand and practically dragging him down the corridor. “We need to go!”


	7. The Happiest Day

Annabel was bored, to say the very least. She had been waiting next to the time machine for a whole hour and nothing of note had happened. Of course, she would never have complained about it, for it meant that H.G’s plan was going accordingly. It also meant that all of her friends were safe, she knew that one slip up could edit their lives - or afterlives - this was why she was so apprehensive about time travelling. 

She had time travelled before, of course, but H.G usually had strict rules over what they were allowed to do and what they weren’t, for he was normally so cautious when it came to altering the past. But this was different. Of course it was different, they were going to bring Lenore back to life.

Annabel was the only one from their group that had known Lenore when she was alive, she was the only one who knew what Lenore looked like when she was full of life. When the sun, dancing through the trees, hit her face, causing it to glow. She was the only one who had seen Lenore try on an array of dresses before choosing the perfect fit. She was the only one who had seen Lenore, the same as she always looked, hair and makeup immaculate, wearing her wedding dress.

But of course, that time was different. Annabel couldn’t make it to the wedding, but she could certainly take the long carriage ride to Lenore’s home one last time - for her funeral. Lenore wasn’t preparing to walk down the aisle, as she and Annabel had envisioned so many times as children, she was simply lying still. 

Quiet.

_ That could happen again today, if something goes wrong… _

But it wasn’t going to go wrong. H.G knew exactly what he was doing, the man was a genius! And Edgar was on the lookout at the manor just in case something went wrong, and he was ready to gather H.G and Lenore so they could all run to meet Annabel and get away before time could catch up with them.

It was all going to go perfectly.

Annabel looked over the field that she and Lenore had hosted many a tea party on, it was almost empty, with nothing but the time machine and a few trees adorning it. But Annabel could swear she saw something else. 

A figure emerged from the distance, running from the mansion at a speed Annabel had never witnessed in him before. His coat appeared to have gone missing and as he ran, he stumbled and tripped over roots until he reached Annabel.

“Edgar?!”

“Annabel! Something’s terribly wrong.”

“What is it?”

“It’s Guy - I tried to stop him from going up to see Lenore, but I couldn’t.”

“You mean to say he’s-”

“He’s about to go up to Lenore’s quarters - and could potentially see H.G. There’s nothing we can do.”

 

* * *

 

 

H.G and Lenore were making their way up to Lenore’s living quarters, it was almost as if they were simply taking a leisurely walk through a grand castle - they were enjoying themselves. Every now and then, Lenore would point out something, the view from a window, an alcove in the grand staircases, and tell H.G anecdotes about her life. They were enjoying themselves immensely, especially Lenore.

“So, how long did it take you to perfect the time machine again?” Lenore asked curiously, leading her way up a staircase.

“Oh, it’s still not perfected. There’s a sixteen minute delay to every major change we make - and I suspect memories will still be retained.”

“Well that sucks quite a bit.”   
“I think the memory glitch might be of some use,” H.G shrugged “Just in case anything goes wrong at some point. But it’s very selective.”

“We should probably fix that anywa- Wait, did you hear that?” Lenore stopped dead in her tracks.

“Hear what?” H.G asked, pausing for a moment to listen.

Sure enough, they heard approaching footsteps, and call it intuition, but Lenore knew exactly what was going on.

“It’s Guy,” she told H.G “You need to go find past-me in my room and stop me from doing whatever killed me, I’ve got remedies and medicines on the third shelf from the window seat. I’ll hold Guy back until you save me, got it?”

“I-- uh, are you sure?”

“It’s the only way any of this will work, come on!”

H.G ran the rest of the stairs and slipped into Lenore’s quarters. Lenore smoothed down her skirts and took a deep breath, she was going to see Guy.

“Lenore!”   
And just like that, he was there. Stood right in front of her, beaming his mile-long smile where his eyes crinkled up and suddenly it felt like there was nothing left in the world but Lenore. She immediately remembered every single reason for her loving him, his sweet compliments, his every concern for Lenore’s wellbeing.   
“Guy, I-- How are… Guy…”

It was one of the rare moments in both Lenore’s life and death that she was completely lost for words. No matter how she tried, no words came to her upon seeing her fiance again. She wondered if Guy was still technically her fiance after… everything.

“Goodness, Lenore,” Guy smiled “You seem much more nervous than I anticipated. And rather pale at that, are you feeling quite alright?” he went to brush a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and she stepped back sharply in horror. “Lenore?”

“I’m… uh, I’m fine but… There’s a problem downstairs! I just remembered we haven’t briefed our parents on the wedding formalities!”

“I’m sure they’ll be able to-”

“They won’t! I can’t go downstairs, obvs. I’ve got a wedding to get ready for, you’ll have to go back down and make sure they know.” She certainly felt sick but mustered the strength to go corporeal for a moment as she gently pushed Guy towards the staircase. “Hurry!”

“Okay…” Guy glanced back at Lenore, still unsure, before making his way downstairs to the wedding congregation. Lenore watched him, dozens of uncertain thoughts and lost words hung in the air between them. She could have said something, anything to him, just in case something went wrong. She could have told him she would always be with him, or that he would find someone just as good as her, or that no one was ever truly alone. That’s what she wanted to tell him, that he would always have people who cared about him and that she wasn’t the be all-end all of his life. 

But she didn’t.

And she didn’t know why.

 

* * *

 

 

H.G slammed the door to Lenore’s living quarters in an uncalculated panic, completely forgetting that Past-Lenore would be in there, and that she wouldn’t know him, and view him as an intruder.

She was stood at her mirror, holding her veil up to her face and comparing her makeup to the colour, a slight frown playing over her features, but she turned quickly at the sound of the door, taking in a sharp breath.

“Who are you?! Get out of my room!”

It was at this point, H.G would later come to recognise, that he saw Lenore for the first time as a truly living being. She almost looked the same, but she was still different somehow. They always say, H.G recalled, that after a star dies, it will continue to shine in the night sky for years upon years until they eventually fade away. It was in that moment that he realised Lenore’s star had died, but she continued to shine as she had when she was living, she was a ghost, it was how she worked. He was rather proud of his star analogy, and made a mental note to tell Lenore about it once they had completed their mission. 

Right now, Lenore was even more radiant than she normally appeared to be, her skin had a certain glow that only living people could possess. And H.G knew it was just his own mind tricking itself into believing, but she seemed multi-dimensional, with more depth in her eyes and more curl to her hair. Of course, he was correct about his fooling himself, for the laws of science simply dictated that ghosts remained virtually the same in appearance in their non-corporeal form - but Past-Lenore was breathtaking all the same. Perhaps it was a result of the elation of her wedding day. 

_ Her wedding with Guy de Vere.  _

_ No, this isn’t about Lenore and I. It’s about all of us, Edgar and Annabel and Mary Ann and Agatha and Fyodor and Mary and Louisa… and Lenore. Lenore and her happiness with Guy de Vere. These are the sacrifices you have to make, Herbert.  _

“Uh, are you deaf or something? Why the actual heck are you in my room?”

“Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry. You see I’m..” he stopped. Who was he? A time traveller? A guest? A friend? Anything he said could change their plan, and changes to their plan could result in circumstances being worse than they already were.

“I’m just delivering a message from a friend,”

“A friend?”   
“Yes… uh, Miss Annabel Lee.”   
“Annabel? Is she okay? I mean, she sent me a letter already and she seems okay, but-” Now it was Lenore’s turn to stop as she immediately felt the need to compose herself. “You’re a friend of Annabel?”

“I am.”   
“Are you two close?”

“Quite.”

“How is she?”

“She’s actually very well,” H.G was thinking as fast as he possibly could so that he could stall Past-Lenore for as long as possible. “But she just wanted to make sure that you… received her letter and wanted to check that you were quite well and happy on your happiest day.”

“I did, and I’m fine. My stomach feels a little off but I bet that’s just the nerves.”

“Perhaps you might want to lie down? Or take something to cure your ailment. Do you have any idea of what it is?”

“Not a clue.” Lenore shrugged. “Do I know you.”

“Uh, no… I’m a friend of Mr de Vere’s.”   
“I thought you said you were a friend of Annabel’s.”

“Uh, Miss Lee is also my friend.”

“Figures.” Lenore walked back over to her mirror, glancing at H.G through it. “Hey… uh, can you tell Annabel I said hi?”

“Certainly.”

Lenore was staring at herself and H.G intently in the mirror with a look of almost sadness in her eyes. H.G wondered if he had possibly encountered an error in his time travel, and maybe Lenore remembered him, or some aspects of him at least.

“Can you tell her that…” Lenore paused, lowering her eyes so she was focusing on the polished floor instead of H.G’s reflection. “That I miss her… and that I wish she could have come today. And that I’m… well, I’m sorry.”   
“You’re sorry?”

“She’ll know what I mean. Just don’t forget to tell her, okay?”

“Okay,” H.G watched her face, thousands of unknown expressions a second flickered across it. He turned around and headed to the door. “Have a great day, Lenore.” 

He opened the door and left without as much as a glance back, he had failed, as far as he knew. Lenore’s situation was exactly the same, only, in this instance, there was to be a message delivered to Annabel. This wouldn’t aid Lenore’s health, though. The mission, which - as H.G could now see - was shaky and uncertain from the start, had shattered to the ground. Lenore was still going to die, and now, because of H.G, she could never be brought back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far! And sticking with my inconsistent uploads - but I've been working non-stop for three days now and I'm currently writing Chapter Ten!  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	8. Loss of Breath

 

It took Lenore years to get used to being a ghost. In the future, she would secretly look at her friends, envying the speed at which they were able to adapt to their non-corporeal forms. She recalled the first few weeks of her own afterlife, exploring Edgar’s house (whilst trying to avoid the morbid author at the same time) and furiously focusing on picking up items. Her favourite thing to do in those early days was to take one of Edgar’s books off of his shelf and fling it across the room, once she was able to go corporeal for a full two minutes she used her newly found power to push over an entire bookcase as revenge for Edgar banishing Lenore to the attic.

The banishing arrangement lasted a week and a half at most, Edgar soon learnt he had no control over the spirit that now resided with him, and dejectedly allowed her to roam his mansion as she pleased, providing she didn’t distract him from his work. This, of course, wasn’t a problem for Lenore, as she had no intention of even venturing into Edgar’s study. Instead she decided to scavenge around the house for materials and trinkets she could keep up in the attic, which she had now claimed as her own hangout. Within days of her foraging mission, she had successfully found enough charms and drapes of material to last an afterlifetime – and had also discovered another room in Edgar’s seemingly endless plethora of rooms: the kitchen.

It didn’t take Lenore long to realise that she could cook, and really cook as well. She had never had to do any housework during her life, there were always maids and cooks and servants and butlers for that – Lenore had never considered doing any of it alone. But Edgar didn’t have any house staff; instead he relied on the raw food in his pantry which he could eat whenever he remembered to.

Lenore didn’t know what to do, she had no intention of eating a stringy carrot, especially when it was uncooked, and she didn’t know how she could possibly conjure up a meal as the cooks seemed to do back when Lenore lived. She wasn’t hungry, per se, ghosts didn’t experience hunger, but she longed to eat something, so she could perhaps feel as if she were living again.  So, in a fit of frustration, she dropped as many raw ingredients as she could find into a pot after coating them in cooking fat (a process that made Lenore feel sick to her stomach) and boiled them. The result was a slightly bitter, slightly watery carrot soup, which Lenore left outside of Edgar’s study with a sharp rap to the door. The china plate was left outside of the door no more than an hour later, completely empty.

What followed was a several week experiment with whatever Lenore could find in Edgar’s pantry, testing different methods of cooking vegetables and adding sprigs of wild basil and mint from the mansion courtyard to the soups for decoration or extra flavour. Each day, at six o’clock sharp, a new bowl of soup would be carefully laid out on the hallway side of Edgar’s study door with a knock, and less than an hour later, the soup bowl would always be returned to its spot outside the study. Edgar began to leave samples of manuscripts and poem drafts next to the bowl, and Lenore took it as a compliment. Often she would add a note or two to his work, trying to be as sincere as she could, and Edgar would take on the suggestions (admittedly rarely, but he did substitute a title for Lenore’s idea one time, which was good enough for Lenore – she knew Edgar’s dismal standards by then).

It was an unspoken agreement that only halted once Annabel arrived after the dinner party and persuaded Edgar to eat with everyone else. By this time, Lenore’s culinary skills had evolved much farther than simple soups and she could prepare five course meals with ease. The food, along with the conversations that occurred at the table, and the overall experience one will feel when in the presence of their best friends, was what lead to the evening meals being the very highlight of all four of the mansions’ residents’ favourite part of the day.

 

* * *

 

 

Lenore met H.G outside of her living quarters and immediately whisked him into a side-corridor, which was unkempt, dusty, and clearly designed for the servants’ easy shortcut around the house. H.G glanced around, momentarily calmed by the new atmosphere he could analyse, before he saw Lenore and was immediately reminded of the monstrous crime he had just committed.

“H.G, you are literally the palest ghost I have ever seen. If I had a terrible sense of humour, I’d say that you look like you’ve just seen a ghost, but I’m not a total loser like Edgar. What’s up, anyway?” Lenore seemed to be keeping herself talking, keeping herself distracted so she didn’t think about the prospect of Guy appearing at any moment. At least they were tucked away where he couldn’t find them now. At least they would be able to wait for Lenore to get her life back now.

“Lenore, it didn’t work.” The words had tumbled out of H.G’s mouth before he had the chance to filter them, and he immediately looked up at Lenore to watch her reaction.

A look of suspended disbelief hung on Lenore’s face for a split second, before her eyes grew wide and her face contorted in fear for another second, after which it returned to it’s original neutral state.

“Oh.”  
It was the smallest that H.G had ever seen Lenore, and the quietest word he had ever heard from her. She made no attempt to argue, accuse or protest. She simply stood there, as if someone had just told her that the sky was blue, or that Ernest was a drunk, or something equally as normal. Lenore had almost no reaction.

“If I can just maybe see what we missed, find out what went wrong and-” H.G began to pace the narrow corridor and mumbling incoherently to himself.

“Hey, H.G, calm down. It’ll be okay.” Lenore attempted to put her hands on his shoulders to stop her boyfriend in his tracks and soothe him.

“No, no, no. Do you not get it?” H.G pulled away from Lenore. “You’re going to die. You’ll die.”  
“Chill. It’s okay. I’ve died before. It’s not so bad, you know that too.”

“The laws!” H.G was losing the usually level-headed composure he was so famed for possessing. “We can’t bring you back, please Lenore! We have to-”  
He was cut short by Lenore, who opened her mouth to interrupt, but immediately closed her eyes and swayed on her feet, collapsing to the ground before H.G could even think of catching her. It was this that truly concerned H.G, it was plain as day that this behaviour wasn’t supposed to occur within spirits. This wasn’t meant to happen. None of it was meant to happen.

He immediately rushed to her, dropping to his knees and pulling her into his arms, suddenly getting painfully detailed flashbacks of his own death. Where it was _him_ in _Lenore’s_ arms, not the other way around. The pain he felt during this instance was far worse than the pain he felt whilst dying, and he wondered if Lenore had felt just as terrible as he lay dying. Or if she always knew he would find a way to come back.

Coming back this time was not an option.

“This is important,” The colour was rapidly draining from Lenore’s face, and H.G knew that it was only in the next room, that Past-Lenore was also dying, in the arms of Guy de Vere. “Important for everyone else, for you. I’ll be fine… dead, but fine.”

“If I can just get to the time machine, then I can-” He knew it was pointless, it would take him at least thirty minutes to reach Annabel and the machine, by which point Lenore would be dead, and all would be over anyway.

“Please, no…” Lenore’s voice remained soft, even in her pleas. “Don’t leave me, H.G. Please… All you have to do is stop Edgar from having the party, protect Annabel and the others, look after yourself.”  
“Stop talking like this,” H.G tried his best to convince himself, more than Lenore. “You’re not going to die. I can get back now, quickly. And… And find Krishanti.”

“You know it won’t work,” Lenore shrugged, resigned. “Besides, remember what we were talking about before? Happy endings are totes overrated anyways.”

H.G shook his head, there was absolutely no way he was letting Lenore go out like this. Lenore needed to be for forever. That’s why she was a ghost, wasn’t it? She was meant to haunt Edgar forever, getting under his feet. She was meant to haunt Annabel, haunt _him._

_Why couldn’t she haunt him?_

“Lenore, come on. Don’t go just yet-”

“I guess… I’m more exciting than plain old Andromeda.” Lenore attempted a joke, though her words were becoming more strained, her voice growing raspier by the minute.

“We’ll be just fine,” H.G assured the two of them over and over again until he looked down, and saw Lenore gazing up at him. “Lenore..? Lenore?!”  
Lenore stared intently into H.G’s once-wonderful, once-prosperous constellations in his eyes, still as present as they were when she first fell in love with him, but now they were desperate and terrified, if stars could ever be desperate and terrified. H.G was clinging onto the last fragments of hope he could possibly gather, but they soon slipped from his grasp as he watched Lenore and the dead star inside her finally disappear from view.

It didn’t exist anymore.

The ghost of Lenore shimmered, and immediately appeared two dimensional. For the first time, H.G saw her as a projection of life, instead of the real thing.

Only now, Lenore wasn’t even an imitation of life, she was well and truly gone. Her image flickered on and off for a few moments, at one point her form completely faded from view for thirty long seconds before reappearing again. H.G watched, unable to even move, horrified and confused at the spectacle, watching and watching until Lenore’s static form slipped through his fingers, and out of existence forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your comments and kudos on last week's chapter! Please don't kill me for writing this!


	9. Silence

There was no body to carry back to Edgar and Annabel as evidence. There was nothing, Lenore had disintegrated in H.G’s very arms, and there was nothing he could do but bolt down into the meadow before Guy de Vere came out of Lenore’s living chambers and spotted him.

The tears didn’t come until he was making his way down the winding path between the copse of trees, where he was out of sight of the wedding guests. It was just an hour ago when he and Lenore had been laughing with each other and running down the halls she had now died in twice. And what’s more, it was all H.G’s fault.

He was the one who had suggested travelling back to prevent the party, and he again who had persuaded the others to travel to Lenore’s wedding day. He was the one who knew the laws of time travel, he was the one who knew of the irreversible risks, yet he was the one who had taken everyone on this forsaken journey. It was his own time machine. He could have prevented the whole thing. He could have just stuck with his aforementioned plan of staying out of the public eye, without letting his imagination and optimism run ahead of himself. For someone who was known for being a smarter, quieter member of the group, H.G said a lot of stupid things to people he shouldn’t.

And now Lenore was dead, dead forever. Dead in two separate dimensions, which meant she could never be brought back, and there was nobody to blame but him, H.G Wells.

He felt like the worst possible person in the world. He had no idea how he was to tell the others.

It took twelve minutes to reach the meadow where he saw Edgar and Annabel, by which time he realised that he was on his sixteen minute time constraint. And he had four minutes to explain all to both of them before they were all immediately transported back to the future, to their homes. Where they would be alive. And where Lenore should belong, but never again would.

“Edgar, Annabel! It was me. It was my fault. I’m so so sorry.”

“H.G, what are you going on about?” Edgar asked, seeing the panic in H.G’s face as he rushed to the time machine and started to press buttons as fast as he possibly could, but with no such luck. The sixteen minute delay rendered the machine useless for the time-being.

“Where is Lenore?” Annabel frowned, although she already knew, but refused to confirm her own knowledge until she heard it from H.G.

The clock was ticking.

**One minute and thirty seconds.**

“She’s dead. I couldn’t do anything. She’s not coming back.” H.G thumped the screen of the time machine in a rare moment of anger, willing it to break, to smash into a million shattered pieces of glass. It didn’t work.

**One minute and ten seconds.**

Edgar was falling off of the edge of the world, he was tumbling down into nothingness. Lenore wasn’t meant to die, she was meant to stay alive and annoy him for the rest of his life. This was never how it was supposed to go.

**Thirty-seven seconds.**

Annabel was frozen, rigid, she felt as she did the day she opened the envelope from Lenore’s parents so many years ago. All was over, again. Five years. That was how long it took for Annabel to be reunited with Lenore the last time. But now, there was no hope of seeing her again. Gone.

**Fifteen seconds.**

H.G turned to face the mansion, up to the turret where he had seen both Lenores, dead and alive, both contained more life than he would ever see in her again. _He would never see her again._

**Ten seconds.**

The authors continued to talk amongst each other at Edgar’s house. Still getting along. Still without a care in the world, forever wanting to stay as they were. A sustained golden moment that was immortalised and could last forever.

**Five seconds.**

Edgar looked at Annabel, H.G had said nothing else, and they didn’t know what this meant.

“H.G,” Annabel began. “What happens n-”

She didn’t get to finish.

Because then, everything went away.

 

* * *

 

 

The last time Annabel Lee and Lenore saw each other alive, they argued.

It certainly wasn’t their first argument, Lenore and Annabel had known each other well and long enough to be comfortable debating with each other fairly often, and Lenore was one of the few people Annabel felt comfortable with voicing her opinion to. But this particular argument was spectacular in ways neither of them had ever imagined before.

It wasn’t even a necessary argument, as some arguments are, this was an argument that blew everything else out of proportion - but it’s content didn’t matter.

Lenore was mad, was all. As Lenore was prone to be. She was mad that Annabel had moved without telling her, that Annabel was bailing on Lenore’s wedding, that they couldn’t be best friends anymore and that they hadn’t really been best friends for three and a half years  - since Annabel travelled to the coast to be with her new gentlemen, only to return, suddenly secretive and much more demure than she had ever been.

She didn’t know what made her confront Annabel about this in her parents’ parlour one evening, but she did. And within minutes, Annabel had stood up and was fighting the urge to raise her voice at her old friend, whilst Lenore, hot-headed as she was, was already snapping retorts to everything Annabel could say after the words had barely been formed.

“Annabel, this is exactly what I’m talking about; when you bottle up all of your feelings and won’t talk about three whole years of your life with people, they start to get annoyed!”

“Is it not too much to simply forget about those years?” Annabel pleaded “I’d really like it if we stopped talking about it. Please.”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“I just don’t like to remember- It wasn’t a very good part of my life.”

“Is it because you hate love now you’ve had some weird run-in with your ex? Is that what it is?”

“What?! No, Lenore-”

“Is that why you won’t come to my wedding? Because you hate love?!”

“I don’t hate love, I just-”

“It is, isn’t it!?”

"It’s not!” Annabel stood up, finally shouting at her best friend, “Whatever has made you think I am incapable of love is insufficient evidence. I can’t make it to your wedding because I will be too far away to travel!”

“Sounds like a great excuse,” Lenore’s voice was laced with a certain venom. “Will you be using that for every important event you miss now?”

“That’s enough!” Annabel made a break for the large doors of Lenore’s parlour. “Lenore, I wish you every happiness in your life with Mr de Vere. I’m sorry that this very well may be the last time I see you, as I’m quite sure today marks the end of our friendship together.” And, with unshed tears glistening in her eyes, Annabel Lee left Lenore’s parents’ estate with a swish of her skirts and the heaviest heart.

 

She never intended that to be the last time they would see each other. Her plan was to let things cool down, send a short letter before her wedding, and then perhaps visit Lenore in the weeks after her honeymoon with Guy. The last thing she ever expected was the letter - addressed to her in an unfamiliar hand, but sealed with all too familiar wax - Lenore’s parents broke the news of her death to her as gently as they possibly could via letter. They spoke of the unknown illness, and how Lenore’s funeral was to be in three weeks, if she wished to attend. They wrote of how Lenore was looking forward to her wedding day, and how she would be greatly missed.

Annabel couldn’t help but think it was her fault.

 

The next time Annabel and Lenore saw each other, was at Edgar’s. Neither of them had any idea that they had been living in the same neighbourhood for months when Annabel visited Edgar’s mansion to deliver some ravens that had refused to return home. She had been ringing the doorbell for twenty minutes before someone answered.

But it wasn’t Edgar, as Annabel thought, or even hoped. It was Lenore - which simply didn’t add up. It didn’t make sense.

“You’re- You’re…. But… You’re…”

“Dead? I know.”

What proceeded was a myriad of tears and apologies and questions as Annabel and Lenore reunited once more, five years on. Edgar was more than delighted at the prospect of Annabel visiting much more often now that she had Lenore to see when Edgar was writing. Not that Annabel visited much anyway, but it was definitely a step up, he thought.

It was.

Edgar wasn’t the only person who was in a state of elation due to these arrangements, and Annabel and Lenore weren’t the only ones either. Less than five miles away, a trusted informant confided in a lone man, who confided in two women he had met months prior to this revelation.

Eddie Dantes’ plan had begun to form, and Annabel Lee was soon to be head-over-heels in love.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Edgar could feel nothing, he was travelling through space and time again, but this time, it couldn’t have been more different. Something had changed, and that something that had changed would change everything. He didn’t even know how everything would work out this time around. He considered the facts, Lenore had never been brought back so Eddie couldn’t claim revenge, as there was no link to Edgar and Lenore to claim revenge to - Eddie was unable to do anything. Hell, Edgar had no idea where Eddie would be now that he wasn’t after Lenore. Was that a good thing?

And suddenly, Edgar was in his study again. His walls reverberated slightly with quite literal echoes of the past. He steadied himself before he could fall from the impact of landing, and looked around the room.

The study was more immaculate than he had seen it since the dinner party, his books were lined in perfect alphabetical order, cobwebs hung from his chandelier and the floors were dusty at most. No dried blood, no loose floorboards, no dead body. But all of Edgar’s memories were intact. He could remember everything.

He walked out and stood in the middle of the rotunda, looking up the spiralling staircase and listening, just listening. There was no sound, absolutely nothing. Edgar’s home hadn’t been this empty for years upon years. He had never felt so alone.

When the doorbell rang, Edgar nearly jumped out of his own skin before rushing to the door, only half-hoping the guest at the door was who he hoped it was. If he was let down, it would surely break his heart.

Annabel Lee was stood at the door.

“Annabel!”

“Edgar!” She flew into his arms, holding back choked sobs and burying her head into his chest, repeating the same phrase again and again.

_“We need to fix it. We need to. We need to. Please, Edgar. We need to fix it.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for reading! And thank you for all of your comments last week - however passive aggressive they were.  
> Chapter Ten will be posted next Thursday!


	10. The Man That Was Used Up

**Seven Years Later**

They tried.

They truly did try, Edgar and Annabel, Emily and Oscar and Fyodor and Mary, Louisa and Agatha and Mary Ann and Ernest. They all tried so hard to bring Lenore back. But without H.G, they could achieve nothing. Edgar and Ernest had attempted to replicate the time machine, but the only other person who knew how it was put together was Lenore, and she was gone.

Not to mention the fact that they’d never be able to time travel now, they were all alive, all corporeal, it was impossible.

Every other week Edgar would hold a meeting for any of the authors who could make it - transportation was considerably more difficult now that everyone was living. The only regular attendees were Annabel, Edgar, Louisa, Emily, and Ernest - who had purchased a house just a little way from Edgar’s own so that he could work with the others to bring back Lenore. None of the authors were expecting this kindness or empathy from Ernest, but were pleasantly surprised when he turned up to the meetings most weeks, albeit with a hoard of alcohol.

Every now and then, another author would drop by to inquire how the rescue mission was doing, and to offer their own knowledge or ideas to the cause. Fyodor and Oscar were regular writers, and would send monthly letters to Edgar from their shared mansion in Europe. Agatha, Mary Ann and Mary would often venture to the US together every couple of months to check up on the situation. Edgar was more than willing to allow them to lodge in his home, as he found that all three women, especially Miss Christie, would dedicate a lot of time to something they felt strongly towards. And that something was bringing back Lenore.

But despite their numerous attempts, nothing seemed to work. Edgar had sent many, many letters to H.G, desperately begging him to join the others in their quest to bring her back, but with no such avail. Edgar hadn’t heard from H.G since the fateful day seven years ago; none of the authors had. And none of them dared travel to check up on him, for they all secretly feared the worst.

H.G was the only person with the knowledge and experience to create a time machine, and, although Annabel and Edgar had agreed that time travel should be avoided from there on, it now seemed the only way. But if H.G was well and truly dead, they would never be able to think of saving Lenore again.

“We can try to find Miss Krishanti,” Annabel suggested to the small gathering of Ernest, Edgar, Louisa and Emily one night. “She’s alive now, after all.”

“Yeah, I don’t think H.G would want to reveal himself to her.” Ernest said, studying a bottle of whiskey he had pulled out of his jacket. “Remember Guy de Vere? He never revealed himself after the death of Lenore - it could be the same for H.G, the poor guy.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Annabel sighed. “But there has to be some way!”

“We don’t know that he’s dead,” a small voice emerged from behind Louisa and Edgar. Emily Dickinson was sat at the edge of the table, not as forgotten as she used to be, but still often overlooked. “H.G could still be alive.”

The whole group, however small, turned to look at Emily. All attention was on her for one of the only times in her life.

“I truly don’t think that’s possible,” Edgar dismissed it, “Surely he would have contacted us by now. Or saved her, Lenore, I mean.”

“I don’t know, Edgar…” Annabel trailed off. “H.G was never really a... Socialising kind of person anyway.”

“What she means to say,” Louisa translated “is he wouldn’t know when to pay you a visit or write a letter, for example-”

“Yeah, we get it.” Ernest cut her short. “But what do we do about it?”

“We could always go visit him.” Emily offered, watching a spider spin a web across Edgar’s candelabra, something that hadn’t been used since Lenore’s evening dinners were cut short.

Edgar frowned for a moment and looked at his friends, Annabel in particular. He searched her face for a reaction, but all he could deduce was as much confusion as he suspected he wore himself.

“I think…” She began slowly “if someone were to visit him, it would have to be Edgar. He has such a way with words.”

“I don’t consider myself to be a great motivational speaker…” Edgar muttered.

“Oh, so you’d rather I do it?” Ernest asked, already knowing the reaction he would provoke. He had to wind Edgar up a lot during the past seven years. Without Lenore for him to vent at, the man seemed considerably more on edge.

They all did.

“Fine.” Edgar groaned before standing up (he thought it made the whole thing appear much more official and formal - everyone else thought it made the whole thing look choreographed and laughable) “I will travel to H.G’s house and attempt to… to… what am I doing again?”

“Get him to work with us.” Ernest said. “Or at least get the time machine.”

“And make sure he’s alright.” Annabel added.

“And check he has been pruning his rose bushes.” Louisa said. “I hear there are spectacular rose bushes in England.”

Annabel made a mental note to give Louisa a gentle lesson in Life-or-Death-Mission-Etiquette.

 

* * *

 

 It was early; extremely early in fact, Edgar doubted he had ever willingly been up this early before (Unless, of course, he was writing).. But this was an important circumstance. The carriage had arrived to transport him to New York, where he would get on a packet ship to the city of Liverpool in England. From there, he would take a town car to London - and to H.G. The journey there would take ten days to get there, and another ten days to travel back to Baltimore.

Edgar made his way into his study where Ernest was curled up in a corner with Edgar’s deer’s head and a bottle of gin. Edgar nudged his sleeping body with his foot, he didn’t stir. Edgar supposed he looked rather cute in an odd sort of way, and he found himself wishing he had one of H.G’s strange cameras to capture the moment. Just a little way from Ernest was a game of chess that had been set out on the table – Edgar wondered if it was Annabel or Louisa who had attempted to start the game. Whoever it was had evidently failed, as two pawns had been moved one space forward each and nothing more. Emily and Louisa were sharing the guest room upstairs, and Annabel was meant to be sleeping in her own bedroom – but, as Edgar saw, she wasn’t.

Annabel had fallen asleep in an ornate chair which was usually reserved for Oscar when he paid a visit. She was ever so slightly slumped in her seat, and a book still lay on her lap. She couldn’t have been comfortable at all. So Edgar took the book and placed it on a table – surprising even himself when he didn’t check the cover or even bother to return it to its allocated spot on his bookshelf. He laid a jacket (presumably Ernest’s, but again, he didn’t bother checking. Annabel’s comfort was the most important thing on his mind) over her and gently kissed her on the forehead.

“I’ll see you in twenty days,” He smiled at her, before picking up his own jacket, gathering the last few items he needed and carefully laying them in his case, and walking out into the entrance hall.

Back inside the study, Annabel Lee smiled to herself, before finally drifting off to sleep, knowing that Edgar was in his carriage on the way to New York City. He was on his way to England to see if H.G was okay. And to save Lenore.

Edgar pulled on his woollen overcoat and grabbed his case. His hand was on the doorknob when he spotted what she had left him.

A cupcake, vanilla. With sprinkles. Strategically balanced atop of Edgar’s mail table.

He smiled, picking it up, and ducking out into the dark, early morning wind.

The mansion was quiet – but not an eerie quiet. It was rather pleasant and peaceful, and Annabel quite liked it. For the first time in seven years, it felt like she was doing something again. She was working with Edgar and the other authors to make a difference. It felt like she was back where she belonged.

All she needed now was H.G and Lenore.

 

* * *

 

Edgar was dreaming.

His dreams were always ridiculously detailed, and he often found himself unable to discern them from reality. In fact, he had written a multitude of poems about the very subject (Lenore found these poems the most boring, so dreams had become a suddenly bitter topic for Edgar over the past years). But his dreams had yet to reach the vividness and intensity of the dream that occurred on the fourth night of his journey to England.

He was stood at the end of a dimly lit corridor, his own corridor, in fact. The corridor that lead from his front porch to the rotunda in his mansion. He hadn’t experienced that particular corridor being as dim and dusty as it was since Annabel had moved in and insisted on cleaning the house. Edgar was recalling the rather absurd fact and surveying the oddly lit hallway when something even stranger caught his eye.

Annabel was stood at the end of the hallway in front of Edgar’s front door, glowing and resplendent as ever - but he couldn’t help feeling there was something wrong, something much more foreboding than simply the lighting.

“Edgar?”

She sounded like he had been submerged in water; Edgar could hear Annabel, but faintly, almost as if she was somewhere else entirely. Edgar looked at her, she had her half-smile dancing across her face as usual, and when she took a small step toward him, the strained sunlight that shone through the door hit her neck. Edgar’s stomach soured as he saw the purple-blue marks on her neck where Eddie had held her until he was sure she had no hope of surviving.

Except _that wasn’t right._

Annabel hadn’t donned those bruises for seven years - she was alive again, so why would she be wearing the marks that proclaimed her death to have happened?

He went to call her name back, but Edgar’s throat had turned to ash, sour and repulsive and rendering him unable to attempt to speak. Instead, he walked toward her, but still found himself helpless; he was trapped in a scene he could do nothing for.

Suddenly, Annabel’s ghostly image flickered out and died like the declining embers of a fire. In her place was Lenore, who had not graced Edgar’s dreams for years upon end. So taken aback, was Edgar, that he found himself completely invalid, not able to make the slightest move at all. He could only watch, as Lenore began to glide effortlessly around her old home, her expression growing more and more frenzied until she was hammering on walls and silently screaming, but for what - or whom - Edgar had no clue.

He woke up when Lenore finally appeared to notice him, her face softening ever so slightly in the way it always would when he and H.G would put down their work and eat the evening meal with the rest of the household.

And then she was gone, along with Edgar’s strangely lit corridor, and his sense - however slight - of perhaps being safe at home with his friends.

Instead, he was in the steerage of a packet ship, packed to the brim with like-minded people, all willing themselves out of the cramped, fetid conditions. But Edgar, along with the other passengers, had another four days’ journey. But as long as Edgar got to H.G, it would be worth every minute of the treacherous expedition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to Edgar Allan Poe - I had to go back and add the cupcake scene in to pay homage to the date!  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I think it was one of my favourite ones to write! As always, your comments and kudos have kept me going throughout the week so don't forget to tell me what you think about this week's chapter down below!


	11. The Power Of Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the first piece of dialogue I wrote for this fic!  
> Enjoy!

 

There was an interesting marking on H.G’s kitchen table, one that he hadn’t noticed before. It was rather unusually shaped, almost hexagonal, and H.G might’ve chosen to observe it in more detail, or conduct some research on why it looked like that, if he cared enough.

He didn’t.

Instead, he reached for a half-empty bottle of amber liquid and took a long swig, grimacing at the taste before slamming it back onto the table, which shuddered along with the walls. The interesting mark was still there, H.G resumed his staring at it.

He hated drinking - but sometimes he could forget about everything, forget about _her,_ for a few days, providing he drank enough. He had never run out - his supply of alcohol that he had been storing in his cellar every time he was gifted some in previous years saw to that. However, on his more sober days, he had begun to notice his supply dwindling. He’d have to do something about that. Maybe he could find someone out in the streets, not that he made a habit of wandering the streets, or going outside, or even getting out of his kitchen for that matter.

His garden door was still open from the last time he ventured outside, two weeks ago in a sudden bout of sadness where all he could think to do was stare at the sky until he passed out. It was painful, remembering her like that, but didn’t he deserve it?

A cold chill had manifested permanently in his house, but he made no means to fix it, he should have caught a cold, he should have died. Why wasn’t he dead?

He picked up the bottle again, whiskey one of Ernest’s favourites.

Empty. Already.

He pushed his chair back with his heels, standing up and shaking his legs out after finding he could no longer feel them. He resolved to make the journey down to his cellar to fetch more, perhaps the three minute excursion would do him good, or bad, he didn’t care.

When he returned back to his kitchen, bottle in hand, an old friend was sat in front of the interesting table marking. Edgar was scanning the room with the utmost fascination and concern, and when H.G saw him, he thought he might have hit his head in the cellar and was simply hallucinating the rest of it. Perhaps, if he stayed like this, _she_ would come walking through the door and ask him to tell her about the stars.

“Edgar.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his own voice, it was scratchy and barely audible, and Edgar watched with an expression of the highest perturbation.

“H.G, it’s good to see you.” Edgar stood up from the table, completely disregarding the interesting mark on the table, which H.G found rather strange for reasons he couldn’t explain.

“What are you doing here?”

He didn’t mean for it to sound so rude, he was simply curious as to why Edgar would choose to make the journey after seven long years.

“I came to see if you were okay.”

“It took you a while.” He remarked with more venom than he had ever heard in his own voice before. It hurt to hurt Edgar, especially after everything they had been through together.

H.G had to remind himself that he didn’t care anymore.

“We’ve been busy-” Edgar began.

“I suppose you have. I certainly haven’t.”

“H.G…”

“Ha,” H.G put his flask down in the table, not necessarily aggressively, but with enough force to startle his old friend. “What is it?”

“This isn’t you, is it? You’re not H.G from seven years ago.”

“And why’s that?”

“For a start, the man from seven years ago doesn’t drink. You made that crystal clear.” Edgar moved the flask onto a dust covered shelf, his frown growing ever more concerned.

“The man from seven years ago is gone. You’re not getting him back.”

“But what if we could-”

“I know what you’re going to say,” H.G cut Edgar off immediately. “And no, it won’t work.”

“Can’t we try?”

“Do you not think I’ve tried?” H.G’s stomach churned as he raised his voice - something he would never have dared to do seven years ago. “I’ve tried, Edgar! I’ve tried so, so hard but she’s not coming back!”

“But surely we could go and-”

“Why aren’t you hearing me!” H.G slammed a chair against the frozen, stone floor, frightening Edgar. “She. Is. Dead. In two dimensions! We can’t get her back!”

There was a dreadful, chilling silence in which Edgar thought H.G would either attack him, or break down in tears. But he did neither; instead he glared at Edgar, his dark eyes suddenly stony and gelid.

“Is that all you came for?”

“No… No. We miss you, H.G. All of us do.”

“Well, I miss her!” His scream was so hoarse, so raw, that Edgar was reminded suddenly of Eddie when he screamed at the survivors of his dinner party - years ago, in another dimension. “But sometimes we can’t get what we want!”

“What would she say?” Edgar asked quietly. “If she saw you like this, right now. What would she say?”  
“She wouldn’t say anything. She’s dead.”

“Given up all hope, closing yourself off, drinking yourself into a stupor in your kitchen! You’re _dying_ , H.G!”

“SHE’S GONE!”

It was said with such conviction, with such finality, that Edgar was chilled to the bone, suddenly flooded with painful flashbacks of Annabel’s death, once upon a time.

But he carried on.

“And you can’t even say her name.”

He’d hit a nerve, H.G flinched and turned to be sure Edgar couldn’t see his face.

“Lenore, H.G Wells. _Lenore._ Your girlfriend. The love of your life!”

“Stop…”

“We’ve been working for seven years to develop time machine akin to yours, and find a way to time travel whilst everyone’s alive, we can’t do it. We can’t... without you. There’s no other hope. We need to go back, set everything right again, I don’t know how - maybe you do.

Sometimes certain things have to happen in order for us to be happy. Lenore’s death - _her first death_ \- was one of those things. But we can get her back as a ghost, if only we try.”

H.G remained silent, still facing away. But he made no attempt at protesting, so Edgar continued.

“If we get her back… Well, you’ll know, because you’ll be dead. But don’t expect a hero’s welcome when you arrive back at the mansion as a ghost. Goodbye, H.G.”

He watched the back of H.G’s head for a few seconds before turning to the door.

“Edgar- Wait. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

A slow smile spread across Edgar’s face as he turned back to face his old friend, who had also turned to face him, eyes brimming.

“I-- uh, the time machine, I haven’t touched it since that day, we could go and take a look. Also, uh, I was working on something with…” He hesitated for a moment. “With _Lenore_. To try and get living people to time travel without the help of spirits, it’s not perfect, but we can try.”

_It wasn’t perfect. But they could try._

It was more than good enough for Edgar.

 

* * *

 

H.G hauled open the door to his parlour, only to be greeted by dust and stale air. Edgar walked in first and saw the time machine; a sheet had been half flung over it haphazardly and then obviously abandoned for the last seven years. H.G finished up his dust-induced coughing fit before confirming Edgar’s unspoken speculations.

“I’ve not been in here since… that day.” He said, tentatively pulling at the sheet and blowing a layer of dust from the largest screen, the tiniest of smiles skittering across his face as he immersed himself in setting the machine up again.

“This is quite possibly the most terribly foolish idea,” Edgar said, peering over H.G’s shoulder as he rapidly entered strings of data that Edgar would never understand into the machine. “Let’s do it.”

“Oh, Edgar,” H.G was immediately off in his own inventor world again, completely oblivious to Edgar’s ramblings. “There should be a lever at the back of the machine, can you just make sure it’s intact for me?”  
“Uh, yes, of course.” Edgar squeezed behind a chair and slipped behind the back of the machine, hiding a grin as he heard H.G muttering ideas and statistics to himself.

“If we were just to- yes, that might work. In fact, I think that would be a rather good plan-”

“H.G, come look at this.” Edgar interrupted his vocalised thought train urgently. “You might want to see it.”  
H.G made his way around the back of the machine and shifted his eyes to where Edgar pointed. There, scrawled in some sort of red dye, were six words.

‘START OF PLAN. DESTROY THE’

The pair stood staring for minutes that felt like seconds, equal parts excited and terrified.

“She didn’t bleed.” Edgar said suddenly. “She told me, she explained to me how she died - years and years ago. She didn’t bleed. This can’t be her message.”

“It can’t be her _blood._ ” H.G corrected. “You’re meant to be the expert in macabre.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not blood. It’s lipstick. It’s her lipstick.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s a message from her, she left us a message!”

“‘Destroy the-’” Edgar read. “The what? Destroy the what?”

“I don’t know… But either way, she wants to be saved, no doubt.”

The two stood in silence for several long moments - Edgar wracked his brains for anything that Lenore might’ve wanted - or _needed_ \- to be destroyed.

H.G couldn’t think straight, how had he missed this, after all the years that had gone by. There was a clue - something that brought them ever closer to saving Lenore, and saving himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind comments across all of the platforms I'm posting on! You guys truly are the best.


	12. Raising the Wind

“Have you ever heard the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice?” H.G asked his friend as they sat either side of the time machine. Every now and then, H.G would point Edgar toward a new dial to turn, or wire to connect and they would sit in silence, concentrating on making the machine compatible with more corporeal forms. But, for reasons unknown to Edgar, H.G broke the silence by asking such a seemingly random question.

“Is that the one where the guy goes to rescue his wife from the Underworld?” Edgar asked. “After she dies?”

“Yeah…” H.G stopped his work for a moment, glancing at the floor. “He failed.”

Edgar grunted in concentration, adjusting a meter on the machine, before looking up at H.G.

“Is that what you’re scared of? Not being able to save her?”

“No,” he lied. “I was simply thinking about the constellation, Lyra - that’s the one that represents Orpheus. Lenore would have liked to hear about it. She never did like happy endings.”

Edgar stopped dead in his work and peered over at H.G, who had already started up work again. Something didn’t seem right to Edgar at all. Memories came bubbling over his mind and stinging like winter wind.

 

_ “What’cha doin’?” Lenore glided over to Edgar one afternoon. He was sat in his downstairs study, with the afternoon sun blazing in through the dusty windows. Edgar found that this almost distracted him from his storytelling, but he’d fallen into such a frenzied fever of writing, he hadn’t the time or energy to move to his much darker, much more morbid study upstairs. _

_ “Writing.” He muttered, scowling slightly. Lenore’s general annoying-ness may have been reduced significantly after Annabel and H.G had moved in - and there were guests visiting almost every day - but she still couldn’t understand that when he was writing, he was writing, and mustn’t be disturbed. _

_ He felt a chill ripple across his shoulder blade as Lenore leaned over to read over him. He hated it when one of his friends walked through him - even partially. It not only reminded him that he was the only truly alive person in the house, it was also a generally discomforting experience. _

_ “Can you not do that?” He snapped, pulling his chair towards his bookshelf. _

_ “Hmm, that looks boring.” Lenore nodded towards the poem that Edgar was working on. “I know I’m meant to be honest about all this stuff, and that is literally the most depressing thing I’ve ever read.” _

_ “Well, yes,” Edgar sighed. “It’s meant to represent the downward spiral of the narrator as he mourns his lost love-” _

_ “Lost love, is that all you write about? Lost love and murder. Edgar, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but that was like seven months ago. Move on.” _

_ “It’s not about my own experiences!” Edgar protested, shuffling his papers into a pile. “It’s just my writing style.” _

_ “Well, it’s boring.” Lenore said. “What’s the point in setting up the whole thing if it’s going to end horribly? Tragedies were cool like a hundred years ago.” _

_ Edgar heartily disagreed, but knew that opening his mouth would only prolong the argument which could last for weeks and weeks if he wasn’t careful. Instead, he shrugged and told Lenore that he was going to find Annabel. _

_ “That’s more like it.” _

_ Edgar rolled his eyes. _

 

It was night by the time Edgar an d H.G finished the time machine. H.G decided it would be the best idea to use it in his backyard, just in case something went wrong. They would travel forward a few days - just as protocol - and travel through Space to Edgar’s mansion so they could gather the others and come up with a rescue mission.

H.G rather hoped it would be a clear night, he hadn’t seen the stars for so long - and he almost felt like it would be dishonouring Lenore if he didn’t pay tribute to her last words. However, the sky was overcast, with only a few stars breaking through the blanket of cloud. H.G tried his best to search for the constellation of Andromeda, but couldn’t see it at all. The best he could do was stare intently at where he thought it would be.

(Before Lenore’s death, H.G could point out every star by memory - but now he wasn’t too sure. Hell, he didn’t even know what month it was.)

“Are you ready?” Edgar asked.

H.G let himself smile a little, glancing at the time machine in utter amazement; he was finally going to try to save her. There was a clue.

“Not in the slightest.”

“That’s good enough for me. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

“‘Start of plan. Destroy the-’” Ernest examined the message on the time machine carefully. “Destroy what? This is a terrible clue.”

“Give it a rest, Ernest.” Edgar said, showing Annabel the scrawled letters. “Any idea what she meant?”

“No…” Annabel sighed. “I mean, it was very clever of her to figure out how to leave the message.”

Louisa half-pushed past Annabel to take a look for herself, frowning. She didn’t exactly miss Lenore - but she missed having everyone be happy. She also missed being a ghost in a way, she could visit as many orchards as she liked, not to mention, travelling was much cheaper. In fact, there were much more benefits to being a ghost than she had ever thought.

“Perhaps she wants us to go back?” She suggested. “To the dinner party! Maybe she wants us to destroy the soup!”

“What? No, why would that even- The soup didn’t even do anything.” Edgar argued. “Does anyone have any ideas - that are actually sensible?”

“We go to the start of the plan…” murmured Annabel. “Surely that must mean the start of the plan? The plan that started this…”

“Travelling back to when you tried to prevent the Dinner Party’s events.” Ernest supplied.

“Exactly.”

“Hang on,” Edgar interrupted the two. “Lenore wants us to travel between multiple dimensions? H.G, is that even possible? I thought you said it wasn’t possible.”

H.G, who had remained strangely silent throughout the conversation, looked up at Edgar.

“I-I…” He stammered. “That was another thing Lenore and I were working on b-but it never worked.”

Emily frowned from behind him.

“Surely you just have to find the place where you travelled from the last time and go from there?”

“What?” Edgar turned his head to Emily. “Evelyn, you’re not making any sense.”

“I am, though.” She protested. “Mr Wells has to have made even a slight rip in the fabric of space and time. It was such a large alteration to history, so the rift is inevitable. And, if I remember correctly, the rift should be right here, in Edgar’s study. This is where we were when Edgar, Annabel, H.G and Lenore left last time. So it should work as the time machine usually works.”

The remaining five people stared at Emily in awe. Ernest had to close his mouth in order to avoid looking like a complete and utter idiot.

“How did you figure all of that out?” He asked. “You don’t even write science fiction, how did you figure that out?”

“It was simple, really. All you have to do is apply some common sense.”

“Is she right, H.G?” Edgar asked, looking to his friend for affirmation.

“Yes, I think she is.”

“Okay, but if we’re travelling back to when the plan started, what do we destroy?” Louisa asked, dropping onto a chair.

“Everyone shut up for a moment.” Edgar said. “I’m trying to think.”

There were several moments of silence in which Annabel almost found herself giggling due to the face that Edgar was making. It was his ‘concentration face’, where he would screw up his face as tight as possible so that his eyebrows were knitted over his closed eyes.

“I’ve got nothing.” He said. “Annabel? H.G?”

The conversation that Annabel recalled at that moment surprised her so much, simply because she hadn’t even thought to try to remember it, nor had she thought about it before. It just hit her - and the memory was so sharp and clear, it was a wonder she hadn’t called it to mind before.

 

_ “I hereby call this meeting of grave importance to order.” Edgar announced from his seat next to Annabel. _

_ “You've told him about it?” Lenore asked, folding her arms and looking at Annabel, who nodded. _

_ HG looked up from his paper, where he was rapidly scribbling letters to their friends; Oscar, Mary Ann and Fyodor, Louisa May, Agatha, and Mary Shelley. _

_ “Don't forget Emily,” Annabel reminded him, leaning over the table and pushing another sheet of paper across to him. _

_ “How are we getting the message to Ernest?” Lenore asked, examining her nails. _

_ “Does he have to come?” Edgar complained. _

_ “It would make sense,” HG put in “He might know what to do.” _

_ “Ha! Yes, because the drunken fool will definitely give us some detailed advice!” _

_ “Edgar,” Annabel put her own pale hand atop of Edgar’s own large one. “Perhaps we should invite Mr Hemingway anyway. He might have some good ideas.” _

_ Edgar immediately softened under her smile and reluctantly nodded. _

_ “Fine. I guess we can invite him. He lives near where Agatha and Louisa are right now, they could find him and alert him.” _

_ “What exactly are we going to be doing at this meeting?” Lenore asked. “Because so far, Edgar, all you've done is send invites out to people. The last time you did that, if I remember correctly, people were actually murdered.” _

_ “I'm aware of that, Lenore.” Edgar frowned, and looked at his friends. “I'm assuming HG has a plan?” _

_ “Several, in fact. I do believe we’ll have to wait to see who can RSVP our invitation.” _

_ “They should be here in three days,” Edgar cut in. “We can discuss this then. In the meantime, I believe we have a date.” _

 

“We destroy the letters.” She said suddenly, anchoring herself back to the present day. “The invitations we sent after we decided to time travel were sent out to everyone. We destroy them before our past-selves can send them out.”

“That… That could work. I think.” H.G said. “Okay, let’s do that.”

“Who’s going?” Ernest asked. “Because, I don’t mean to alarm you all but I honestly think you’ll need a real man to protect you all.”

“Protect us from what?” Edgar asked. “The only people that are going to be there are Annabel, H.G, Lenore and I.”

Edgar and Ernest’s mindless bickering slowly faded into nothing but background noise as Edgar’s last sentence ran circles in H.G’s mind.

He would be seeing Lenore again, after seven long, long years. He would be able to see her face and hear her voice and it wouldn’t end in his waking up in a pool of sweat and tears. It would end in his being blasted into the present with Lenore by his side.

Hopefully.

The Myth of Andromeda and Perseus. Happy endings. He would save her.

“Fine then!” H.G was brought back to the conversation by Edgar losing his temper and yelling at Ernest. “We’ll all go. But if something goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”


	13. The Bargain Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR THE RIDICULOUSLY LONG WAIT!   
> I'm a terrible (and busy) person and I promise there are actually going to be regular updates for the final few chapters!  
> I really hope you enjoy, and that this chapter can compensate for the wait.

Edgar was never fond of adventure novels. They were, in fact, his least favourite books to read and write. Adventures, to him, were a pathetic excuse for wit. Sending a character on a quest was a lazy way out of calculating the intricate minds and ideas of humans. He hated adventures. Especially when the adventure wasn't his own. 

However, whilst he was rescuing Lenore, it was a little different. It was interesting and he felt like he was doing something to help. H.G was absolutely brilliant, he always would be. He was able to identify a problem before it had even happened, and that was something that was definitely important, as the group encountered a whole host for of problems just preparing for Lenore’s rescue mission. For example; Ernest attempted to smuggle sixteen bottles on his person. It was certainly a good idea to drink something - especially when one is travelling through time and space. But H.G’s time machine was not yet able to transport an indefinite weight. And H.G worried about the alcohol spilling and causing problems with the electricity. It was a rather strange concept, Edgar didn't like to think of it too much.

Ernest reluctantly agreed with H.G's theory, stuffing two bottles into his jacket whilst grumbling to himself. The small victory made Edgar smile more than it should have. Their rivalry never seemed to end - even in times of dire circumstance. 

Annabel was getting more and more worried. Last time she travelled like this, it didn't end well and it would kill her to risk it again. It all seemed like too much, especially as the victim in question was not only her best friend, but Lenore's retrieval would influence the sanity and health of H.G, and the mental security for her and Edgar. Losing Lenore twice was by far enough. 

It was odd, she thought, how things had worked the way they had. How they were going back for the second time to try and get Lenpre back again. Not that that made any sense, but yet again, it did, and just thinking about it was enough to give Annabel a headache. After Lenore died and was brought back by Krishanti, Annabel had had the fright of her life - it was beyond anything she had ever imagined.  The second time they tried - the time they lost her -  was with Lenore’s assistance. They were going to keep her alive. And they failed, they failed.

Annabel reminded herself every day. They’d failed and Edgar had promised her that he’d keep her safe and get Lenore back.

He’d promised her.

_ He’d promised her. _

They tried and they tried and it never worked. 

It wasn’t the third time they had attempted to bring Lenore back in some form. It was more like the six hundred and third. The others didn’t seem deterred. Perhaps it was because they hadn’t tried and failed as often as Annabel and Edgar had together. No matter how hard he tried, Edgar couldn’t replicate time travel. But now, with H.G, with the machine, they could do it. They could go back.

It still felt horribly, horribly wrong.

She daren’t tell Edgar, lest she sway his decision and ruin any last hope that Lenore’s coming back could have possibly had. But she could sit in silence and over think as many ways of the plan going wrong as she could. 

Which is what she did. 

Sat in her usual corridor seat, hands folded demurely in her lap as if nothing was going on. She could hear Edgar and H.G talking about a resistor in the study, Ernest was muttering to himself as he walked past the door. She had no clue as to where Emily and Louisa were, but it didn’t bother her as much as it would normally. 

“Annabel?” Edgar poked his head out of the study, and she almost giggled. (Annabel was very good at giggling, it just didn’t seem an appropriate time). “We’re ready. Are you coming?”

She nodded, standing up and straightening her skirts as quickly as she could - H.G appeared in the doorway behind Edgar with a sad sort-of half smile on his face. Annabel might have liked to describe his flickering emotions as ghostly, but she thought that rather insensitive. Instead, she nodded, and smiled reassuringly at the two men as Ernest walked out into the corridor with Louisa and Emily. 

“Time to kick some metaphorical ghost ass.” He said. 

They smiled, in spite of themselves.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t going very well, to say the very least.

Emily’s theory had certainly worked, the six hopefuls had made their way into the past and were watching the past versions of four friends (whom Annabel had decided to name Past-Edgar, Past-H.G, Past-Lenore, and Past-Annabel) seal and send off envelopes whilst Past-Lenore and Past-Edgar argued.

That was where their luck ended.

“What exactly do we do now?” Ernest hissed. “We can’t exactly sprint in there!”

“Look,” Louisa whispered, pointing at Past-Lenore before Edgar swatted her hand down. “Lenore is already sending the invites.”

“Can’t we just risk running in there?” Edgar asked. “Surely we could rationalise with ourselves.”

H.G frowned before shaking his head. “Whatever we decide to do, it needs to be soon.”

“There’s nothing we can do.” Annabel stared down at the floor, her brow furrowed in frustration. “Lenore must not have been thinking straight when she left the message.”

H.G looked up at the girl sharply, his face mirroring the concern that was so prominently plastered over Edgar’s. 

“It isn’t like you to speak like that, Annabel.” He said softly. “Try to have a little more faith.”

Annabel’s face seemed to crack down the middle as she turned away from Edgar’s hand on her shoulder. She hunched her shoulders and shook her head fiercely. It was something that Edgar had never seen her do before.

“Annabel,” He murmured, taking her hand. “H.G will figure something out. Won’t you, H.G?”

The man in question tapped his fingers on a notebook that had seemingly appeared out of thin air. “We may have to travel further back… Just a few hours, so we can stop the invitations from being  _ made. _ ”

“How?” Ernest and Louisa chorused before being shushed by Edgar.

“I’m not too sure. But, if I remember correctly Past-Annabel and Past-Edgar should be leaving the room shortly, so we’ll have to figure it out when we get further into the past.” He had already began fiddling with the small metal device, setting the dials back a few hours and grabbing the hands of Ernest and Emily. 

“Are you sure-” Annabel began, before she was shot back through space and time, heart hammering in her chest.

 

* * *

 

They landed rather awkwardly on the doorstep of Edgar’s house. Ernest stumbled and a hidden bottle fell and smashed, soaking a small pile of letters on the welcome mat that Annabel had insisted on Edgar buying. 

The mat was also subsequently ruined which caused Annabel to sigh dejectedly before pushing it - along with the sodden letters - under their mail table. 

Edgar immediately took off down the corridor - leading the others into the dining room, swiftly dodging Past-Annabel who was reading in her usual spot at the end of the hallway. The spot she always sat in. Annabel saw herself, and almost wanted to run to her, screaming and shouting and warning. 

Another part of her wanted to run and find Lenore, throw her arms around her and hug her until she was sure everything was going to be okay. She just wanted Lenore to be there. She just wanted her to be safe.

Edgar was on the receiving end of a rare glare from Annabel, as he took a seat in the chair next to the head of the table, which Ernest swiftly claimed. 

“What exactly are we going to do now?” She asked, with enough ice in her voice to rival an agitated Lenore. “We don’t particularly have a plan, do we?”

Edgar sighed, crossing and uncrossing his legs before sinking his head into his hands as his friends watched in disdain. 

“We mustn’t give up hope…” H.G’s voice faltered off, looking at the despondent faces of the surrounding authors.

“Perhaps we should just risk seeing our former selves?” Oscar suggested, “That can’t be too much of a problem, right?”

“Wrong.” Edgar snapped, growing as impatient as Annabel; he stood up, ignoring the fact that Lenore would have lectured him for dragging the chair across the floor.

_ “I’m the one who’s stuck here,”  _ She would have said.  _ “At least stop my ears from being assaulted.” _

“Well, what do we do then?” Louisa asked.

Edgar looked over the people who he had grown to call his friends, they - save from H.G - all stared at him with identical stony faces. They were all tired.

They all missed Lenore. 

“We do whatever we can do,” He sighed, “We try to get her back… Let’s go and find our past selves.”

Annabel’s glare softened into a serious of anxious glances as she, herself, stood up. Walking over to Edgar, she blinked furiously, willing the tears to dissolve before they escaped her eyes to no such avail. The room watched on as she half-collapsed into Edgar’s arms, who hid his face in her, hoping the others couldn’t see his own tears.

All was silent in Edgar Allan Poe’s house. 

And then,

“This is totes adorbs, and all that, but I really hoped you’d be happy to see me.”


	14. Dream-Land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the final chapter! (The next will be an epilogue.)  
> I hope you all enjoy it! Oh, and, Happy Easter!

Before Annabel could think of moving, H.G had pushed past Emily and Louisa in his rush to reach the door to the rotunda. Annabel and Edgar followed, practically tripping over their feet in their briskness.

It wasn't until a veritable parade of acclaimed authors had piled into Edgar’s rotunda - which had always seemed like the hub of any action in the house - that somebody pointed out the obvious.

The somebody being Ernest, the obvious;

“She’s not here.”

“But we heard her,” Edgar insisted. “Someone, please tell me I wasn’t the only one who heard her!”  
“I definitely heard her,” Louisa nodded, poking her head into one of Edgar’s closets, grimacing at the smell.

“Perhaps it was Past-Lenore?” Annabel suggested, but her tears had dried, and the faintest half-smile danced across her lips. 

“Can’t have been.” H.G said, “She was addressing us, there’s no doubt about that.”

No further questions could be asked, because, out of the shadowed door of the kitchen, a martini-glass-holding figure emerged, and let out a single cough.

“Lenore!”

It was impossible to distinguish exactly how many of the friends cried her name, all Edgar could deduce was; Annabel let out a rather strange, strangled scream, and H.G said nothing, remaining silent and stoic.

“Do I have to do everything for myself?” The figure asked. _“Oh hey, Lenore! Long time, no see! How was your time trapped neither here nor there? Speaking of that, how did you get back? Sorry about us being crappy friends, we call ourselves some of the most intelligent and acclaimed people in the world, yet we aren’t half stupid!”_

There was an ugly, scratchy silence, before H.G took it upon himself to speak.

“How did…. How did you… What?”

Or at least, attempt to speak.

“I’m the most powerful ghost in this room, I can easily leave you all a clue as I’m dying. You do realise that, right?” Lenore sighed, waltzing over to one of Edgar’s ridiculously elaborate rotunda chairs and taking a seat, sipping her drink and watching her friends over the rim with a perfectly quirked eyebrow.

“We thought… H.G said we had to stop the invitations…” Edgar’s voice was little more than a whisper as he clung to Annabel.

“All you had to do was destroy that letter Oscar sent Annabel about people seeing Fyodor. And somehow, it took Ernest spilling his drink all over the letter for that to happen? You literally brought me back because you’re all terrible people who can’t go on stealth missions.”

H.G blinked, approaching Lenore slowly, as if she might disappear again if he got any closer.

“Of course,” He muttered. “The invitations would have never been made if Annabel had never read the letter… Lenore, my dear. My dear Lenore... you’re a genius!”

“I know,” Lenore reclined in the chair, which looked near impossible. “So, did you all miss me.”

Another second of unsure silence, before all seven of her friends burst into tumultuous conversation with her.

“We tried everything and all it took was Ernest being Ernest?”  
  
“What can I say, I’m always the hero, even when I don’t intend to be.”

“Lenore, you _must_ tell us where you’ve been!” 

“Hey, Lenore! Have you met Emily? This is Emily!”

“She knows me…”

“I’ve missed you! I’ve missed you so much!”

“I love you.”

Somehow, at this last statement, the others managed to stop their talking and hurry out of the way of H.G’s way. Lenore was standing now, though the inventor couldn’t remember her rising out of her seat, what with the chaos and excitement.

“You what now?”

“I love you, Lenore.”

And for the first time in the history of Edgar and Lenore’s knowing each other, in the history of Annabel and Lenore knowing each other. Lenore blushed, and smiled wider than she ever thought possible.

“I love you, H.G.”

Before Ernest could pretend to puke, the eight friends were thrown forwards as they hurtled back to their present day.

 

 

* * *

 

When Annabel Lee came back as a ghost her first thought was to find her best friend. Of course, finding her best friend would also mean finding the man whom she had recently confessed her love to - Annabel’s situations tended to be a little on the strange side. And her best friend living with the love of her life was certainly one of these. However, the whole Edgar predicament didn’t cross her mind at the time, all she could think about was Lenore.

She had experience with this sort of thing; being dead, being a ghost, picking a haunting spot (though Annabel was already sure of where she wanted to be for the rest of eternity). She just prayed that nothing had happened to Lenore, that nothing had happened to Edgar.

It was only as she made her way to Edgar’s mansion (she remembered thinking of how it was odd that she had to walk) that the very idea of something happening to him struck her.

It was a mass-murder case, and Eddie _hated_ Edgar. Surely he would have been the first on his list? Or perhaps her dear plus-one was saving him for last, the most gruesome murder of the night.

It then occurred to Annabel that she could arrive at Edgar’s house, only to have the door opened by Eddie. Or worse, to not have the door opened at all. The thought of walking through a house full of her dead friends chilled Annabel to the bone.

It was her fault that all of this had happened. What if Edgar had died?

Lenore opened the door, and any previous worries slipped from Annabel’s mind as her best friend broke down in front of her. Sick with guilt, Annabel dropped to the ground to console Lenore.

“I should’ve given you some warning, I’m so sorry!"

  
“I hate you.” Lenore sniffed, hugging Annabel as tight as she could.

 

* * *

 

“Do you think we should check on them?” Annabel asked Edgar. They had been back home in the present for five hours, and for the majority of them, Lenore and H.G had claimed the study as their own so they could talk.

“You sure that’s all they’re doing?” Ernest asked as he walked downstairs after showering. “Because they’re taking a hell of a long time ‘talking’.”

“They’ve been apart for seven years,” Edgar shrugged. “We have to give them time.”  
The strange, soft side that Annabel loved so much resurfaced in his voice as Edgar spoke. He passed a tray of chopped up carrots to Annabel who deposited them into a simmering pot. Hemingway jostled them both in an attempt to steal some of the ingredients Annabel had laid out, but was quickly elbowed out of the way by a mildly annoyed Edgar.

“Soup will be served at six.” He said, hitting his hand away from the parsnips.

“It’s four,” Ernest groaned. “Can’t we just have it now?”

“Soup will be served at six.” Edgar repeated, and watched as his fellow author skulked away.

Come six o’clock, Lenore and H.G were still holed up in the study, so Edgar laid the bowls of soup in front of the door, rapped on it sharply, and hurried back to the dining room, where he sat at the head of the table for the first time in eight years.

As he sat, eating the soup (and kicking Ernest in the shin when he complained that it was burnt), he watched his friends: Louisa, Oscar, Ernest, Emily, and Annabel talk between themselves, truly happy.

Edgar was content.


	15. Epilogue: Morning Star

He watched his friends shimmer in and out of sight in the sunlight. Annabel had suggested they picnic on the small hill (Lenore said it was more of a mound of dirt) that overlooked the river in Edgar’s garden. So, Edgar, Annabel, Lenore, and H.G traipsed out into the garden, wicker basket in hand. When they crossed the stepping stones, H.G appeared to slip and fall a little way down. As Lenore turned around to help him up, she saw him on one knee, holding a tiny, velvet box.

Of the few words that were exchanged in that moment, Edgar could make out none, he watched his two friends happily before carrying along the river with Annabel.

The two climbed the ‘hill’, which sat just in front of the orchard, and sat in the sun for hours until it eventually dipped below the horizon.

“What are you thinking about?” Annabel asked, as they watched the first few stars appear.

“A lot of stuff…” Edgar’s vocabulary lacked its usual ornamentation, which gave what he said an odd, raw sort of quality. “Like, how all of my friends are ghosts and maybe, Edgar from a few years back would have resented that. He would’ve been jealous - I  _ was  _ jealous. But now…”   
He paused, and Annabel didn’t feel it appropriate to coax him along, Instead, they sat, in semi-comfortable silence for what felt like all the time in the world - and no time at all. 

“But now,” He continued. “It’s different. And it doesn’t matter if I’m living or dead, I’m still  _ with  _ you.”

Annabel smiled through her tears, looked at the water-distorted version of Edgar, the man who ran to her as she lay dying, the man who sent her hundreds of poems, the man who loved her. 

Edgar wasn’t Eddie. He wasn’t destructive, poisonous, vengeful. Edgar wasn’t any of the multitude of adjectives Annabel could use to describe Edward de Vere.

Edgar wasn’t Annabel’s plus-one. He wasn’t  _ using  _ her to get anything.

Edgar loved her. 

And Annabel couldn’t think of anything else that would have made her happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me and this fic through the past six months! I'm so proud of myself for actually finishing something for once in my life, and I'm infinitely thankful for all of your support!  
> New fics coming soon!  
> Isla


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